


I Think He Knows

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actor Hannibal Lecter, Alternate Universe, Biting, Choking, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Movie Star AU, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink, Romantic Comedy, Rough Sex, Single Dad Hannibal Lecter, Single Dad Will Graham, Slow Burn, Spanking, Teacher Will Graham, Will wrote a smutty fanfic about Hannibal's character, Writer Will Graham, and he wants to keep it a secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 104,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Single dad Will Graham has given up on finding true love, but he’s still writing about it, both in his burgeoning career as a screenwriter and in his hobby composing steamy erotic fan fiction for his favorite t.v. series, Blood Law.  Meanwhile, Blood Law star Hannibal Lecter doesn’t know what hits him when he first meets Will at a Meet and Greet.  For one thing, the hunky Lithuanian actor is still reeling from a recent break-up.  For another, this strange man who’s ranting about his rude behavior happens to be breathtakingly beautiful and clever in a way that catches him entirely off-guard.  What will happen when the two have to work together, as Will is hired to rewrite the script of Hannibal's latest movie?
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz/Brian Zeller, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 360
Kudos: 462





	1. Chapter 1

**Comic Con, July**

“Is this thing even moving?” Will asked Beverly, shifting around on the heavily loaded escalator which was so crammed with people -- and for that matter, aliens, Starfleet officers, androids, fae-folk, werewolves and vampires -- that it seemed to have stalled.

“I think so, just verrrry slowly,” his best friend said in slow motion.

Beverly used her chin to flip a page over atop the pile of art prints she held precariously in her hands, the sharp, glossy black tips of her nails looking as fierce as her face looked sternly focused.

“Hey, don’t stress. Hannibal Lecter is going to totally love your art.” Will put aside his own dislike of the loud, impatient crowd of fans around them in the cavernous but otherwise nondescript Baltimore Convention Center and smiled. “It’s amazing.”

Beverly smirked, delicately closing the folder and tucking the slim stack under one arm. Her dark eyes danced with amusement as she replied, “So is your fan fiction, Will. Planning to show Hannibal your most infamous story?”

Will reddened and adjusted the buttoned-up collar of the sheer, midnight purple velvet robe he wore over his slightly transparent, shiny black shirt. The costume was an adequate representation of Supreme Court Justice Valeris Nightsilk, one of the more popular and heavily debated characters in their favorite tv show, _Blood Law_.

“Obviously not, Bev, he would think I’m some lust-crazed psycho-stalker. You know how legitimate writers frown on fan fiction, never mind how cringy it is when people actually tell actors how much smut has been written about them. Talk about second-hand embarrassment.” Will shuddered, grateful for the zillionth time that he always wrote under an alias.

“Well, I don’t think there’s anything embarrassing about writing a nice, long romance to share with fans, and like, what about me?” Beverly shrugged. “I mean, Draven is shirtless in at least two of my paintings, and I’m still going to ask Hannibal to sign them.”

“I don’t know, there’s just something different about art.” Will pursed his blue-purple painted lips. “People see fan art as more legit. They fund and commission it, even the smutty ones, but if you’re trying to make a start as a real writer and happen to mention your vast, seemingly impressive backlog of fan fiction, people will give you the fish-eye so fast you start to grow gills.”

“That’s a highly questionable metaphor,” Beverly noted as they finally stepped off the escalator. 

“Yeah, you’re right, never mind the gills.” Will tucked the example into his mental rolodex of unsuccessful word plays and paused nearby the escalator’s exit, taken aback and fascinated by the bustling activity that met his eyes.

The upper floor was loaded with booths where talented fans enthusiastically sold art, clothing, accessories and more which they had created themselves. Almost everyone walking around shopping or waiting in line to get a Sci-Fi celebrity autograph was wearing a bright, fun costume. The walls were covered in huge posters advertising upcoming films and tv show seasons that _everyone_ desperately wanted the latest spoilers on. The air buzzed with electric, bubbly excitement, and it smelled of buttery popcorn and pure geek paradise.

Even Will, who was usually too annoyed by crowds for this kind of thing, had to admit the mood was impossible not to feel, like a small contact high. 

He gave a quick “Live Long and Prosper” hand gesture to a few solemn Vulcans who passed by and gave him a respectful nod in return. Meanwhile, Beverly got a few stormtroopers to disperse without questioning them by waving a hand in front of their helmets and saying breezily, “There’s nothing to see here. We’re not the rebels you’re looking for.”

Continuing to wind a careful path through the crowds of fans, Will and Beverly located the row of tables where various stars of sci-fi and fantasy franchises sat offering autographs and selfies. 

They joined the line beneath the enormous banner which shouted, _Meet Draven himself, Hannibal Lecter, Star of Blood Law!_ Then they flashed their badges at the security minders to prove they’d paid the fifty fucking dollars for this particular meet and greet and got in line behind the other droves of fans dressed to the nines as fancy vampires.

“How’s the book coming along, anyway?” Beverly asked with a gentle smile anticipating the way the question would affect her friend.

Will felt the same blend of appreciation that someone cared about his writing enough to ask, mixed with guilty near-despair at his current impasse of writer’s block. The best he could do was an uncommitted half-smile.

“I wrote like 200 words of Chapter 5 yesterday. I’m stuck. But hey, now that I’ve doctored a few scripts, at least I’ve got a little side hustle while I try and figure out how to churn out a novel as easily as I do a 200k slow burn enemies-to-lovers _Blood Law_ fic.”

“Ooh,” Beverly gushed, Will’s reference to the show making a reminder go off in her head like a bell, “Did you hear that Hannibal decided to do this con because he’s going to be shooting here anyway in a few weeks, during the _BL_ hiatus? Little indie rom-com, they’re filming, mostly around the Inner Harbor and Fell’s Point. Guess he wanted to come down a couple weeks early, find himself a place to stay, probably check out the nightlife…” Bev’s voice wandered into a lilting tone and Will shot her an accusing look.

“We are not going to scamper around Baltimore trying to figure out which bars Hannibal Lecter is going to be in.”

“Why, because that is kinda stalkery? Or because he’s married and the best we’d get out of him is an awkward round of small-talk followed by a badly-lit, slightly blurry repeat selfie?”

Will groaned, “No, because we’re broke! I can’t afford to go bar-crawling in Baltimore. Plus, I have the kids this weekend, Frederick is away on some business trip.”

Even after a year of weekly therapy, Will couldn’t ever seem to say his ex-husband’s name without framing it in a scowl. At least he no longer had to sit up at night wondering what Frederick got up to on his “business trips”...but sometimes he still did, anyway. The leftover ritual felt about as degrading as the marriage itself.

Will sighed, “Isn’t it depressing? Here I am thirty-seven years old, single, with two small children and a Masters, and I spend half of my working life staring at a blinking cursor on a chapter which threatens to never be completed, the other half of it staring into the dead eyes of college freshmen who would rather drink motor oil than learn the basics of essay writing. Neither of which earns me enough money to go casually stalking a cute actor in Baltimore.”

“Well, I’m sure they wouldn’t actually rather drink motor oil,” Beverly reasoned. “Probably. And hey, I’m broke, too. BCC gave me two less courses than usual this semester, but I’m still not quite broke enough to go on unemployment. At least it comes with the whole starving-artist territory.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re down to choosing whether to buy paint or ramen.”

“Naw, Brian buys my ramen for me,” she grinned, referring to her fellow community college adjunct boyfriend, as they moved up a place in line.

“Ah, true love," Will chuckled.

Will still couldn’t see Hannibal’s head or hear his voice above the crowd. Maybe the latter issue was due to the hobbits behind them singing an ode to the joys of Elevensies.

They had finally reached the front of the line, and as the person in front of them moved on, Beverly’s face lit up in a huge grin. 

“Hi, Hannibal!” she gushed, passing the Lithuanian actor a selection of her finest Draven fan art, all bloody streaks of grandeur and meticulously detailed romantic entanglement with his love interest Rosamunda. "Huge fan here! I was wondering if you'd mind signing these prints of my art." 

“Hi,” came the low-key response, as if Hannibal was only half-awake. 

He blinked at the dazzling sight of Beverly Katz vamping it up as Assistant D.A. Octavia Babylon, smart black-on-black, mini-skirted business suit, sky-high heels, delicate fangs which only slightly slurred her voice, devastatingly lush eyeliner application and all. Will realized that Hannibal must have seen countless Octavia cosplays, but it nevertheless seemed weird that he didn’t offer a single compliment on Bev’s badass look.

Hannibal asked wanly of the art prints, “So, did you make these yourself?”

Will peeked over Bev’s shoulder to see Hannibal, finding that he looked disheveled and downright checked-out. He glanced down at the row of glossy prints, scrawling his signature in silver as Bev prattled on about her art and how much she loved his performance on _Blood Law_.

“Yes, of course you do, thank you,” Hannibal said distractedly, shoving the prints back in Beverly’s direction as if she was an item on a conveyer belt and he could hardly wait until the last annoying fan was out of his way so he could end this boring waste of time. He hadn’t even looked at half of the prints.

“Can I get a selfie?” Bev asked, unbothered. She leaned back and craned her phone overhead to catch a quick image as Hannibal waved her away.

“Uh, no please, not today, I can’t do any photos.” He pressed his thumbs into his eyes as if they burned, then sipped from a lidded coffee cup which smelled suspiciously of whiskey.

“Seriously?” Will asked, stepping forward to stand next to Bev, one hand perched on his hip.

Hannibal’s big, expressive brown eyes were perfect for playing a vampire because in some lighting they looked nearly red. Plus, he had this eerie, otherworldly sort of look to him, strikingly chiseled cheekbones, lush lips and silvery blonde-brown hair that tended to sweep down to kiss his forehead in a ridiculously pretty way which belied his character’s evil intentions.

Now he didn’t look villainous or intense, just mildly irritated; however, there was a funny little something else about his expression, as if Will had somehow surprised him. He guessed it must have been his frown among so many smiling throngs of worshippers, or maybe the boldness of his tone when everyone else here would melt away at the slightest hint of interest from Hannibal.

“Is something wrong?” Hannibal asked, bewildered, his gaze flicking over Will’s costume as Will pressed his lips together, refusing to wonder what the actor thought of it. 

Why had it taken this long for Will to really think about the fact that anyone could see right through this gauzy black shirt to his nipples? Maybe it hadn’t seemed all that important up until this moment. But it didn’t matter what Hannibal Lecter thought about his appearance, so he tried to put the thought aside, only to get dragged deeper into it like a whirlpool.

Anyway, even out of basic aesthetic interest, Will knew that Beverly was far better to look at than he was himself. Will was alright: 5’10”, blue eyes like a swirl of stormy cotton candy, probably his best feature, and soft brown curls that seemed to insist on looking unruly no matter how he tried to tame them. At this point Will considered his figure to be decent enough, considering he’d recently gone through a divorce and enough ice cream sundaes in result to make him careful to hit the treadmill consistently, too. But certainly nothing special. Meanwhile, Hannibal was just intimidatingly handsome in that larger-than-life mystique, untouchably hunky kind of way. There was no chance he’d look at Will as anything more than a particularly outlandish specimen of nutty fan.

“Um, yeah,” Will therefore blurted, “we just waited in line for an hour after paying fifty bucks to get your autograph and a photo with you, and my friend spent countless hours on those beautiful paintings, mostly just hoping you might like them if she ever got this chance to show them to you, and you’re not even awake or invested enough to bother being friendly and appreciative? What, are you drunk right now, or just totally ungracious?” 

Will’s face felt hot and scarlet, and in some weird blend of shock and anger he managed to wonder, _what the fuck did I just say? Why am I so mad?_ How had he accidentally stumbled right out of the contact high of the excited Comic Con atmosphere, to weirdly self-conscious about his appearance, and now suddenly infuriated?

Hannibal frowned. “Uhmmm, excuse me for living, but I’m having a bit of an off day.” He drummed his fingers on the table, then licked his lips, looking all of a sudden pretty pissed off himself, but trying to contain it. “I still wanted to honor this commitment to my fans, and so I’ve told your lovely friend…” 

He glanced down at his own illegible scrawl on one of the prints and squinted his slightly bloodshot eyes in confusion. His eyes were striking, tragic. Red on red. “Belinda--”

“Beverly,” Will corrected him as Bev elbowed him in the side.

“Honey, what are you doing?” Beverly asked Will through gritted teeth, still smiling at Hannibal as if to make up for her companion’s misbehavior.

Hannibal sighed dejectedly, as if he really was centuries old like Draven, and it had worn him out. “I told your friend here that her art is wonderful and thanked her for coming out, and so here are your signed prints, _Beverly_ , and thank you very much, as well for coming out, eh--” He scratched his cheek, surprising himself at the sensation, looking as if he’d forgotten that he’d forgotten to shave, probably for the past two days at least.

“Will,” he retorted, having embarked on a runaway train to Sassyville with apparently no return ticket booked. “Will Graham. And I’m sorry I bothered coming to this con, quite frankly.”

God. He couldn’t seem to stop herself from getting angrier with Hannibal by the second, over what?

Hannibal was tanned, and his toned arms when he crossed them and leaned back in his chair would have made Will drool under any other circumstances. 

“This really is a thankless industry,” Hannibal remarked to no one in particular, bitterness tinging his softly deep voice, undeniably adding a sexy snap to his cute accent. “I’m sorry you came, too, if it’s just to interrogate me and waste my time with your rude comments.”

Will’s eyes blazed even more vibrantly than usual thanks to the black eyeliner which Beverly had put on him earlier. “I bought the time, didn’t I? So I guess it’s mine to waste with rude comments if I want to.” 

What was he now, the petulant Leslie Gore of the fan-con scene?!

“You’re petty,” Hannibal countered, “And whiny. Can’t imagine that makes you very happy in life.”

“Oh, thank you, wise guru,” Will fumed, feeling bizarrely exhilarated by his own unaccountable anger and the curiosity over how Hannibal would react to his retort, “Please be my life coach. Teach me how to show up half awake, half drunk and one hundred percent grumpy to an important event funded by people who make it possible for me to make a living.”

“I don’t think you need any lessons on how to be grumpy,” Hannibal answered with a sarcastic, short huff of a laugh.

 _Shit, he has a point._ How totally annoying and definitely inconvenient.

“Whatever,” Will finished the conversation weakly. It was even worse because he knew Hannibal probably noticed the _BL_ DVD set he’d pulled out of his messenger bag for the actor to sign, and he had to walk away without getting the autograph. Despite his arrogantly accusing behavior, he was clearly only here because he was an actual super-fan, and for _fuck’s_ sake,

“What the hell was _that_ ,” Beverly finished the sentence in Will’s mind, steering him firmly onward.

Will shook his head and followed Bev away from the table, daring to look back over one shoulder to see Hannibal greeting the next fan with an equally gloomy attitude.

“He’s a human being, you know, not a robot programmed to please fans. He’s allowed to have an off-day,” Bev chided, baffled at Will’s mini-tirade.

Will sighed, already mortified with himself and regretting his words. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why did you talk to him like that? Get so upset over him being distracted?”

Maybe he could salvage his own conduct somehow, make it seem even vaguely sensible. “He was being awful to you after we stood in line all that time and you went to all the trouble--”

Beverly shook her head. “Uh-uh, Will don’t make this about me. Hannibal’s a human being just like everyone else and he’s having a bad day just like most of us, most of the time. I’m perfectly happy with my signed prints, honey, so tell me what you’re really bothered by here. You’re not usually much for confrontations, and when I say that, I mean, like--”

“Like, ever.” Will stopped short, slipping his hands into his robe pockets as Bev almost bumped smack into him. “You’re right. I guess I choose my battles, and today I chose to fight.”

_It was hard meeting Hannibal in person after watching him all the time on tv, writing insanely smutty fic about his character, concocting this embarrassing crush in my mind, knowing he’d never be interested in me. So awkward, uncomfortable...and intense._

And in his own confused inundation of unwanted emotion, Will had lashed out, which is what he always seemed to do when his feelings backed him into a place where someone had the chance to make him happy or hurt him. When he couldn’t control what was going to happen, and he needed to hide, his temper usually worked just fine as a fort. Frederick used to complain about it all the time, and Will had to admit his otherwise despicable ex had a point.

To counteract these realizations, Will kept rushing pridefully forward, narrowly avoiding collisions with robed wizards and a unicorn made of three people. He was going nowhere in particular, or anywhere but here, whichever came first.

Beverly caught up with him, getting him to pause by resting a gentle hand on his arm. “Will, it’s okay,” she soothed. “You don’t need to feel bad about it. But why choose such a complete non-issue to lose your shit over?”

“I don’t know, I...I just don’t have a clue,” Will sighed because he couldn’t admit the real reasons out loud. They hurt, and maybe had a lot more to do with the insecurities he’d battled since childhood and solidified with a bad marriage, than anything some gorgeous actor could have caused in a fleeting argument. 

Will thought about the first moment Hannibal’s eyes had landed on him, his expression thick with confusion and misery, but suddenly shifting in this tiny glimmer of something like...recognition. He had not wanted to accept the way this made him feel, like there was a chance in hell his embarrassing and unrealistic crush could be reciprocated. Grumpiness was a much safer option than analysis.

***

Will was up all night thinking about it, tossing and turning. So much for not analyzing. His throat felt dry no matter how many glasses of water he gulped down, heart pounding for just way too long while some kind of weird tremble seized his skeleton and sizzled over his skin. He was sweating despite the semi-functioning sputter of the window ac unit, and he was apparently having damn _palpitations_ , thank you oh-so-very-much, Hannibal fucking Lecter. More anxiety symptoms, just what he needed. 

Actually, he’d never had anxiety quite like the way he’d been feeling over the last week or so, but Will didn’t know what else to put it down to. He didn’t have any cold symptoms, so what else could it be?

It was a sweltering night and he lay above the covers in his thin t-shirt and boxers, slightly overgrown curls splayed out on the pillow, fingers twitching, mind fixated on memories he ought to have dismissed hours ago as inconsequential or barely good enough for a humorous “I met a celebrity and he was weird” story. Instead, he was trapped in Hannibal’s gaze, fighting to understand why the actor had exuded this power over him, making him into a raging nervous wreck against his own better nature and his habitual dedication to acting like a nice person no matter how messed up he generally felt.

Sighing heavily, he sat up and yanked the journal from the bedside table drawer, scrawling down scattered words, just fragments of images and ideas like broken, crumpled confetti dusting his soul with an exhausted pretense of comfort. Okay, he wasn’t going to be able to write these feelings away. With some problems, he’d found that having a good write about it could exorcise the demons from his heart and mind, relegating them to the safety of the page so he could relax. This particular demon certainly had longer teeth and a tenacious bite.

Was it because he’d written that smutty fan fiction about Hannibal’s character, Draven? It was his most popular story: _You are the nocturnal dread (and the peace that comes with scarlet daylight)_ , 200k words to date, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mystery, Adventure, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Dom/sub play, Angst with a happy ending, thousands of hits and kudos, and despite the way others frowned on the genre, the work which Will had to acknowledge as his truest masterpiece to date.

 _I mean, I didn’t write the story about Hannibal._ It was about Draven -- and Rosamunda for that matter, the vivacious vamp/werewolf half-breed he always shunned with just a little too vigorous a disdain, easily birthing the ship “Dravunda” which had taken the _Blood Law_ fandom by storm since their very first scene together, five years ago, back in Season 2.

Obviously it was strange, watching Draven on tv every week, developing this rich passion for his love story and then spinning his own tale of it, filling in canon’s mistakes and negligence as smoothly as covering potholes in cement, and then suddenly seeing his portrayer in person. Will had considered Hannibal as sort of a stand-in for Draven, since he knew the character with vital intimacy but knew nothing whatsoever of the actor outside of publicity and tabloid gossip.

Yet when Hannibal was right there in front of him, he wasn’t a stand-in anymore. He was a real person, flesh and blood and painfully mortal, and Draven became the fiction. Will guessed it was embarrassing to have devoted quite so many words to the hot, wet sweep of his tongue and the lovely, dense rug of his chest hair, but then again, Draven wasn’t real; he was up for grabs as much as any fictional character, and there were thousands of racy stories about him posted to Blood Law Paralegal Archives. Why should contact with that particular pair of admittedly stunning, almost-maroon eyes have made him feel so suddenly wrong about himself, _with_ himself? 

It didn’t _feel_ like embarrassment; Hannibal didn’t even know that Will Graham was BloodsoakedSecrets1976, plus the actor had repeatedly mentioned at previous conventions how he never read fan fiction because it made him feel all blushy and self-conscious, that in real-life he was actually quite boring and not sexy at all, and _oh my God, that’s it_!

When Will saw Hannibal sitting sadly at that table, a shadow of his usual, sweetly mellow public persona, rubbing his big fingers over the thin layer of prickly grey stubble on his face, when he saw the actor’s rumpled white v-neck tee and awkward-dad cargo pants, his tongue nervously working over his slightly crooked teeth (they were a bit fang-like naturally, again making him a perfect onscreen vampire), he knew this guy was much sexier in real life than his darkly sarcastic, rough-and-tumble bad boy onscreen alter ego could ever be. 

Hannibal was softly crumbling, stressed out to the edge of oblivion, unable to force a smile that didn’t look more like a grimace. He was 200 mg of ibuprofen swallowed dry, chased by mumbled niceties and barely saved face, he was disillusionment skating the edge of despair, and Will knew the feeling. Hannibal was beautiful and fragile and ridiculous and broken and real, and the moment Will saw him, it made him so horribly angry. He didn’t want to feel magnetically attracted, he didn’t want to _feel_ that way about anyone ever again. The disaster show of his marriage had been quite enough to turn him off of love forever.

And it was stupid, really, upon reflection, because Will didn’t believe in love at first sight. Stupider, because even if Hannibal hadn't been a celebrity and way too cool for Will in the first place, he was also married to the beautiful, immensely talented actress-singer Bedelia Du Maurier. 

Will didn’t want his heart to be open enough to let attraction and possible love in like a sickly insidious venom, weighing him down with reminders that he’d wasted years on _Frederick_ , the wrong person, and now there was absolutely no one out there for him whatsoever. And back in the day when he first started dating Frederick, when they fell in love (as he thought at the time, anyway), Will had not been able to tell that this man was a despicably selfish liar without the ability to be faithful. Will normally thought he was very perceptive and empathic, so this meant he had, at least to some extent, willfully blinded himself. He had not wanted to see the truth about Frederick until it was too late to escape heartbreak and divorce, and no way was he ever going through that again.

More than anything, Will didn’t trust himself, _couldn’t._ The idea of being free with his emotions and totally honest in his desires made him get the shakes.

He ought to be content with his two beautiful children, currently asleep in their own room, plus the rest of his family and friends. Even his career, however fledgling. And he should make the most of every day lived essentially and in any real adult context, alone. Intimacy was a ghost he’d chased down several dating apps and it didn’t lead anywhere but back to the same loneliness, only with an aftertaste of regretful self-loathing. He’d been cheated on by his husband, and upon returning to singledom, propositioned by countless random men and women on apps, berated or smothered by those he had dated and now he was just so completely and utterly _tired_. Will wanted to accept being alone forever, but some idiotic stubbornness inside him refused to entirely give up.

So when he saw his fantasy of Draven turned inside out, transformed into a shockingly vulnerable entity of brittle gorgeousness, _Hannibal_ , it was altogether too much. 

Will flipped over onto his side and picked up his phone, instinctively opening an audiobook app and selecting a soothingly melancholic Victorian novel, hoping it would lull him to sleep. Instead, every eloquently narrated word of old-fashioned English repression stifled by impossible mores just pounded the question deeper into his mind, an indelible stamp: _I know why I’m so angry, but why is Hannibal Lecter so sad?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: Very brief reference to self-harm.

Hannibal groaned and mashed his face into the pillow, wishing it would consume the wretched bloody aching in his skull, but all it did was remind him that the slightest pressure applied to his temples would greatly worsen the affliction.

“ _Noooo,_ ” he moaned, but sadly the answer was _yes_ : he had the world’s most horrific hangover. 

He sat up in bed and clutched his head, waiting for the dizziness to clear before he confronted the new day. In addition to the headache and the heavy, aching nausea, it also felt as though he’d swallowed an entire cat.

Stumbling to the kitchen, unable to muster his normally elegant deportment, he spilled about as much water onto the counter as he did into his glass and mumbled some more colorful adjectives in his native tongue before sloppily gulping down the cold, unforgiving liquid. 

He gave another resounding groan. The frigid water from the fancy filtered tap made the needles in his brain sink in deeper, his dry throat screaming at the overstimulation.

Bracing his hands on the counter, he stood there in his plain white boxers letting the air conditioning turn him cold as well, until he was an idiotic hungover popsicle, reasoning that he deserved the lesson to remind him never to drink that much again under any circumstances. 

The phone rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin, fingers trembling as he lifted it, closing his eyes and letting out a long exhale. “Jack.”

“Yes, what a surprise, it’s me, your _agent_ , Hannibal. Now, why the hell haven’t you been answering your damn phone? We’re at defcon one here, buddy, and now is not the time to slink into another one of your existential funks! Did you find a place to live yet? And furthermore, did you read the latest rewrite of _Now That I Found You_?”

“No, Jack, I haven’t read the latest rewrite yet, as I’ve just been unceremoniously discarded by my wife of ten years and I needed to take a moment, okay?” Hannibal swiped his unruly hair back from his forehead and sighed, knowing he’d only dug the hole deeper for himself.

Jack Crawford was the best agent he’d ever had, and held such careful rein over Hannibal’s schedule of projects that normally, the extreme level of organization was a comfort. Hannibal could just concentrate on his wife and daughter, and on his acting, relaxed in the expectation that Jack had the planning covered and he could just learn his lines, train, do his research as needed and show up on set. But Jack’s ruthless efficiency came with a side of impatient sternness which was doing Hannibal no favors in his currently frazzled state.

“Okay, okay, Hannibal, I get it, let’s take one more moment together, shall we?” Jack was half-condescending, half-sincere, a specialty of his, as if giving into real human emotion would weaken his hawkish skill set.

“Breathe in,” Jack coached. Hannibal could picture the agent at his desk in his New York office, checking his busy Google calendar or scrolling through TMZ as he gave mindfulness advice.

Still, the deep breathing didn’t seem like the worst idea. Hannibal inhaled through his nose and changed mental images, picturing Bedelia’s impenetrably exquisite face, cold eyes not so much mocking him as reminding him, _what did you expect?_

Of course she’d grown tired of him. It had never been anything more than a matter of time. He remembered her cool, smooth blonde hair like silk coasting over his fingers, her laugh like bells chiming out the message that the universe was right and ordered and he deserved her love, near-impossible to gain as it had been. And now it was gone. 

“Annnd, breathe out,” Jack snapped, his voice rich with authority, not at all employing the yogic tone required for such an exercise.

Hannibal breathed out through his cracked lips, wishing the action would carry his feelings for Bedelia with it, right out of his mind and into a convenient wasteland where all pointless things went to pile up unused, but sadly she stayed right where she was. Lodged uncomfortably in his heart where all insidious truths went to slowly poison him over time. Hannibal's marriage was a failure, and there was nothing he could ever do now to fool himself otherwise. 

Jack resumed with transparent readiness to move on, “And we’ve had our moment and we are moving on, superstar. Chin up! Don’t ever forget who you are.”

Hannibal took another swig of water, then let out a raspy laugh. “I play a vampire on network television, Jack.”

It was not exactly the prestigious career for which Hannibal had entered the field of acting, although the job was not free from its enjoyments, in addition to the impressive salary.

Jack sighed, “Oh, okay, so that just completely negates the accolades from Berlin and the Golden Globe Nomination for Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role, then, does it? Hmm?”

Hannibal had to smile. Jack might be brash and blunt, yet he was always in his client’s corner, and not in an artificially preening way, but with genuine admiration. 

“That was ten years ago and thirteen years ago respectfully. Bedelia was always the one--”

“Speaking of Bedelia,” Jack interrupted, “You should know that you and she are this week’s big _US_ cover story, _SPLIT!_ \-- rip down the center of the page between you two and all that. Now, this is a terrible situation, yes, but amazing publicity, so please do what literally not one single client has ever done for me despite my expert advice, and do not read the _US Weekly_ coverage of your divorce. Promise me. You’ll only regret it; they don’t sugar-coat; they excavate your marital insecurities and parade them through the streets at dawn.”

Hannibal chose not to address this for long, since he fully planned to torment himself by poring over every single piece of media about the split.

“Hmm, that’s good advice,” he acknowledged vaguely, still relying on his weight pressing against the counter to hold him upright.

“You take it. And how about my other question? Where are you going to be staying? Can’t put down roots at a hotel, the paparazzi will be all over you.”

“I’m all set staying where I am for now,” Hannibal replied, glad there was at least one question for which he had an easy answer. “Georgia’s going to be in St. Tropez all summer and she said I’m welcome to crash here during filming.”

Georgia, one name only, was one of the biggest pop stars on the planet, and Hannibal only knew the freckle-smattered, cutely sweet waif from the one flight they’d shared a couple of months ago. But at the time he’d mentioned that he would be filming in Baltimore this summer and she’d offered him to stay in her home. Georgia's parents lived in the area, which was why the singer had chosen to live there rather than the hills of Hollywood in more stereotypical starlet style. 

“I have so many problems with security breaches, stalker-fans and looters, and I’d rather not pay a team to camp out there when I’m going to be overseas until September. You’d be doing me a favor, more than anything else, Hannibal, really. Plus, I get the bragging rights of telling all my friends that Draven is staying in my house.” Georgia had smiled into her sparkling water, exhibiting the singular charm of someone for whom fame was still fun.

When he’d first arrived at the Baltimore estate, he’d been distantly impressed by the 17,000 square foot brick mansion looming over an immense turquoise swimming pool. There were five large balconies, one of which was the size of an upscale restaurant’s outdoor patio, and at night there was a huge, star-sparkled sky spiked with the freshness of summer hope. Even when Hannibal had first arrived, before the Break-up Call from Bedelia, he’d already felt the entire season’s hope souring on his tongue. 

It was hard then, as a parallel, not to picture Georgia living her best life out in St. Tropez at the very same time that Hannibal seemed to be slowly fading from his own comprehension. She was nineteen and he was forty-seven, so perhaps it made sense that her life was only beginning whilst his own had shuddered to a halt, but still he wondered if it was too… _soon_ for him to be feeling himself as such a complete loss. It was lonelier here in this mansion because it was so big and beautiful, and he was so small and lost inside, as if _he_ was the child and someone like Georgia an ancient sage rendered wise by virtue of her naïveté. You had to be naive to hope, at least if you were much too plainly honest with your awkward passions, too inept to ever keep the interests and energies of a woman like Bedelia. 

And they still had to tell Abigail about the split. Hannibal thought their teen daughter had long since felt the divide between her parents, and had probably confronted it a hell of a lot more honestly than Hannibal had himself. 

“You never look at Mom anymore,” Abigail had commented the last time Hannibal had sat down beside her on the couch at their Vancouver house to watch a movie, as they always did when he had a night off, after she finished her homework.

She hadn’t been at all accusatory with the observation, only a little sad, very confused. Hannibal knew he didn’t look at his wife anymore because doing so hurt too much with the guillotine blade of her departure from the marriage lingering in cruel hesitation over his neck for what by now seemed like years. 

“Mom is so beautiful that looking at her is like looking at the sun,” he’d reasoned. “Sometimes I just get overwhelmed. You know I love her very much.”

Or at least...he always had. Right? He had been so sure, once. Now, after all of her neglect and coldness, he couldn’t help worrying that even his own love for her was like a heavy rock covering up a festering community of ants ready to run away from a situation that had not made him happy in years.

Abigail had countered, “I love Lissa in my class, but looking at her doesn’t make me feel that way. It makes me feel…” she shrugged her slim shoulders, blinking at her father with her clever blue eyes. “Happy. And excited, so excited. She watches Marvel movies with me, even though she’s really more of a DC fan.”

“The perfect woman,” Hannibal had chuckled, drawing Abigail close and wanting to disappear into her innocently comforting hug, where it was safe.

For now, Abigail was staying in London where Bedelia was filming her latest future hit, but he’d have his daughter with him in Baltimore for the second half of the summer and could hardly wait. The house was a cold collection of pointless luxury with no one to share it.

Hannibal picked through the kitchen mainly to remind himself that he’d forgotten to go shopping, that there wasn’t a damn thing in the refrigerator except for some fruit and cheese, both with highly questionable color and texture situations. Normally, he prided himself on being an excellent chef and would enjoy nothing more than ordering some groceries, then making a decadent meal to help cheer himself up. But today he wasn’t his usual self; he wondered when he would meet that man again, the sophisticated, debonair man who wore smooth designer suits and charmed his way down every red carpet.

He sighed, shutting the refrigerator door and leaning on it as he called the closest pizza place which delivered. After throwing up the entire contents of his stomach prior to blacking out the night before, he was now desperately hungry.

“Mario’s Pizza Palace,” a dull male voice intoned after two rings.

“Yes, can I place an order for delivery?” Hannibal gave the address of the very posh neighborhood as he slapped a k-cup into the coffee maker.

“We don’t deliver much out there, man, wow,” the youthful slacker replied. “Also, do you know it’s like…” A pause for him to check a clock, because he definitely didn’t wear a watch. “Ten am?”

“But you’re open,” Hannibal reasoned, blowing on the cup of bitter, black, _wake up, you idiot!_ medicine in his free hand. “So can you deliver or not?”

Honestly, who did he have to kill around here to get a guilty pleasure serving of greasy carbohydrates slathered in melted cheese, spicy meat, and overcooked vegetables?

A hour later, he’d moved out to one of the decks, having taken a quick shower that nearly exhausted what little strength had been instilled in his worn-out body by the caffeine. He folded the large slice of mushroom-and-sausage, perversely amused by the thought of what his personal trainer Jimmy would think of this little brunch.

The indulgent food took the edge off the hangover just as he had hoped, and Hannibal let the sunlight filter into his body, needing it to restore him to life as surely as it would kill his immortal, network tv alter-ego. Flipping open the first page of the script in front of him on the glass-topped patio table, he was prepared to immerse himself in his character Neil’s cutely solvable, romantic-comedy troubles -- looking forward to it, in fact. God knew he needed to escape from this overrated place called Reality for a nice long while.

However, by the time he’d finished the first slice of pizza, wiping sauce from his thumb onto a napkin and chewing contemplatively, he’d reached page five of the script and suspected that the rewrite hadn’t repaired many of the inherent flaws in the dialogue, characterization, and for that matter plot. By the time he closed the lid of the pizza box and lightly shoved it away to make himself stop eating, Hannibal put his head in his hands again with a dejected sigh.

The script wasn’t merely unimproved; it was a disaster. And if someone at the studio couldn’t find a way to fix this before filming commenced, _Now That I Found You_ was destined to be an absolutely terrible movie. A one-star entry on IMDb to besmirch his filmography, just terrific.

Perhaps that looney, but very sexy curly-haired man from the fan-con yesterday had been right: he really was a total mess.

***

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Rose murmured, lifting her tiny head from where it lay nestled, lightly moistened by drool, in the soft crook of her arm as she continued looking up at the doll video playing on Youtube.

“Mmmkay, baby,” Will yawned, sitting up straight, stretching, and then climbing over his four year old daughter to exit the bed and pad into the kitchen.

To get there, he had to deftly climb over several communities of Barbies, Legos, and the ever-dreaded, harsh little sharp pebbles known as LOL doll shoes. Sometimes it seemed like there was no point in cleaning up until the kids were going to be out of the house for a while; every mess just gave birth to another, no matter how often he tried to have them pick up after themselves or did it himself. Will pretended that he did the toy tidying begrudgingly, but secretly he liked the small, clean accomplishment of taking care of his children, restoring order until every little plastic figure and accessory was back in its designated bin.

Will came back into his dim bedroom with a bowl of apple slices and cheerios, which he passed to Rose before dropping a kiss on her warm forehead. Rory, his six year old son, was still out like a light on the other pillow, dark curls tossed out in a spectacle of heedless perfection. Ever since Frederick had moved out, both children had developed a habit of ending up in Will’s bed by early morning.

He set his coffee down on the bedside table, climbed back into bed, and found the gratingly chipper voices of the video on tv fading away as he flicked the phone open to a series of texts and voicemails.

There were several messages from Beverly that made him laugh. Bev loved to tell fond stories of bearded, cute nerd Brian doing random, often ridiculous things, such as trying to iron a shirt without realizing you had to fill the iron with water first, or belatedly learning how a fire extinguisher tended to shoot with surprising strength, knocking its well-intentioned user onto his ass. The prototypical absent-minded professor, Brian was a brilliant graphic design expert who taught with Beverly and Will at BCC, and like so many teachers, he complimented his impressive smarts with a liberal dose of goofy cluelessness.

“He’s so hot,” Will sent back with a laughing emoji.

Next up, there was a voicemail from Kade Prurnell, Will’s former screenwriting professor at Baltimore Film School.

“Give me a call, Will, I think I have something for you. Something exciting!” 

Kade didn’t usually get excited, so Will started to get excited by proxy, too. He went into the kids’ room and sat down on Rose’s bed, jolting back up again when he sat on a squeezy dinosaur toy that made a loud squeak.

“Ack!” He said into the phone just as Kade picked up.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Will laughed, tossing the dinosaur into a nearby toy bin hosting plenty of other prehistoric specimens of plastic and rubber. “So what’s the exciting news?”

“You’re going to love this. That movie filming down at Inner Harbor -- the one with that salt-and-pepper vampire from the show with all the slow motion jumping? They’ve hit a major snag with the script, and production is slated to start next week. Trust me, they do not have the budget for this kind of potential delay, so the director -- Alana Bloom, lovely woman, great friend of mine -- she reached out to me, to see if I could help, but I’m swamped. Do you think you can take a look?”

“You mean the...um, the film starring Hannibal Lecter?” Will bit his lip as his heart squeezed around violently churning lava. _Fuck._

“Yes, that’s right, it’s him and that gorgeous actress from the Oscar darling about starving out in the frozen wilderness, uh, Bella...?”

“Bella Davenport,” Will finished.

In the other room, Rory started sleepily crabbing at Rose to get away from him. Rose had a tendency to flop her limbs out haphazardly, and her family were frequent victims of her tiny, yet surprisingly strong arms and legs suddenly striking them.

“Rose, get off of me, I am trying to sleep!”

Rose immediately took offense, lisping in her adorable still-half-toddler voice, “Well, _excuse_ me! You’re the worst.”

“What?” Will knew Rory would be sitting bolt upright in bed by now just to cry out, “ _Daaadddyyyy!_ Did you hear what she just said?”

Cupping his hand around the phone, Will shouted, “Quiet down and stop fighting! I’ll get your breakfast in a minute, Rory.”

“Sorry, Kade,” he sighed, lowering his hand, “Do they want to fax the script over to me?”

“Mmhmm, and they’re wondering if you can be on set tomorrow. Everyone’s prepping to start and they want this squared away ASAP. It’s a rush job, but I told them you’re great at those.”

“Sure,” Will reasoned, frantically toying with a loose thread on his t-shirt sleeve.

Was he a pro at working under pressure, even under impossible deadlines? Was extreme multitasking his olympian sport of choice? Hell, yes. 

But did Will feel ready to go sashaying onto the set of a movie starring Hannibal Lecter, after the way he’d acted at the Meet and Greet yesterday? Not so much. He seriously considered sneaking onto the set wearing a fedora low on his brow, topped off with a trenchcoat and sunglasses, but that would sadly only call more attention to his shameful presence.

“Thanks, Kade,” he finished with great effort towards calmness, trying to think about Kade’s kindness, how Will had been so lucky to get the chance to go back to school a few months ago and add this new skill to his writing repertoire. 

He thought about how much he could use the paycheck, how exhilarating and satisfying it would be to see an onscreen writing credit, if he was lucky enough to get one. Maybe, if it was a decent enough check to cover his electric bill with some money leftover, Will could finally start paying his adoptive dads Reggie and Robbie back for the tuition funds they’d lent him.

After hanging up with Kade, he went in to finish calming the kids, skipped a Youtube ad for them and took Rose’s bowl to refill it with apples, making a second breakfast for Rory with yogurt, which he liked but Rose despised, and finally returned to the coffee pot to caffeinate himself further while waiting for that very _exciting_ screenplay draft fax.

As he stirred the cream into his mug, the phone buzzed again, displaying a new text from Beverly:

_“HOLY SHIT, WILL. HOOOOOLLLLYYYYYY SHIIIIITTTTTTT (holy shit)”_

Will clicked on the link to _US Weekly_ which was included in the text, sipping coffee with only casually piqued interest at first. Celebrity gossip had never been more than a bland frivolity to him, occasionally good enough to distract from his troubles as he perused tales of manufactured woe and triumph. He was unsurprised to see this was yet another one of those silly break-up articles featuring a picture of a happy, famous couple with a rip torn down the middle of them.

 _That’s a wrap for Hannibal and Bedelia!_ The headline blared.

Will spluttered coffee all over as he stared at the screen, the golden couple with their gleaming, tanned, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed glamor, sidled up to some red carpet premiere interview, Hannibal in a flawless tux with just the right hint of mischief in his eyes, pride for his wife exuding palpably from his huge smile and the way his hand rested adoringly on her hip. Bedelia Du Maurier, Broadway sensation turned film star, wore her long, wavy blonde hair piled high and draped in pearls, the trend that year along with her bright red gown with a slit revealing one heavily-insured, perfect leg and thigh, her smile cooler, completely owning the moment.

Hannibal had seemed so forlorn yesterday, but Will never imagined this was the reason. _Of course not, because you were only thinking about yourself and your own severely fucked set of issues._

Will needed this job. He needed the money, needed the career boost, needed the chance to fuel his passion for writing into something tangible, an actual achievement. It was a low-budget indie, but still, this movie was a much bigger deal than the other two screenplays he’d worked on. For one thing, those previous rewrites had been a collaborative effort with Kade. This would be Will’s first time flying solo, and he’d always have the confidence from this if he succeeded, if he got to hear his dialogue filling up a whole movie. He didn’t even need a screen credit to feel the importance of this project to his whole work ethic and sense of self.

But how could he possibly face Hannibal now? 

Over in the den, the fax machine beeped and started emitting pages, and Will bolted over to retrieve them, resolving to make the best of things. 

“Let’s face it,” he murmured, “Chances are he won’t even see me, or if he does, he won’t remember me.”

***

“Oh, look at you, what a sweetheart, you are such a lifesaver,” Alana Bloom gushed when Will arrived on set.

The lovely brunette woman took both of Will’s hands into a warm, grateful squeeze. “I don’t know what I would have done if Kade didn’t know someone who could doctor a disaster-script, _fast._ "

Will blushed, star-struck by the renowned young director. “My goodness, it’s an honor to be here. I’m a huge fan of _Autumn Fervor_ , that was tremendous!”

“I trust Kade’s judgement,” Alana nodded, “And she told me you can whip this disjointed little love story back into shape in record time. I just don’t want to lose this chance, you know, to tell this story? The premise is outstanding; the follow-through just somehow got lost in the process.”

“Yup, that could be the title of my autobiography,” Will cracked, making Alana laugh as well. 

“What struck you as interesting about this movie’s concept?” Alana asked, slipping an arm as they strolled the waterfront set. 

Filming was set up by scenic HarborPlace, with one of the nearby buildings serving as the office of Hannibal’s character. The water was sparkling under the sun in shades of cobalt shimmering in heat, as if a handful of yellow diamonds had been tossed over the surface. The cheerfully busy shopping pavilion, the water taxis passing by, and a collection of cute seafood restaurants made for an appealing scene, alive with possibility. Tourists and locals alike went about their typical days of shopping and getting ice cream, but many of them paused by the roped off areas to try and get glimpses of the filming which wasn’t actually due to start today.

Will enthused, “I love the role reversal! That the woman is a rough-and-tumble firefighter and he’s a nerdy accountant, but there’s just this crazy chemistry between them. I love the idea of fate pushing them together despite every way they try to avoid falling for each other. It’s unpredictable and fun.”

“As love always should be,” Alana winked, her sleek hair swinging as they walked through the sun-dappled scene, techs around them setting up signs for a winter festival where one key romantic scene took place in the script.

“Oh, damn, please tell me you’re planning to keep the Winterfest scene in the movie? I already ordered the snow machines.” Alana paused by the food table and loaded a cracker with cheese and pepperoni, taking a delicate bite.

Will nodded. “Definitely, I mean, if you like my go of the script, I want the Winterfest to stay. I’m a big fan of the contrived scenario, and an even bigger fan of the snow-kissed first embrace.”

“Contrived scenario, real emotion. Isn’t that why we love romantic movies? It’s the dream, right?”

“It’s definitely…” Will nearly lost his breath and definitely slipped up his thinking as Hannibal walked by a few feet away, head ducked, fingers raking through unruly, overgrown hair, soon disappearing into a nearby trailer.

“It’s the dream,” Will finished distractedly.

“I love what you’ve done to retool this opening,” Alana continued, flipping through the few pages Will had composed within twenty-four hours. “So much zestier! I feel like we were losing it with all the fighting before. They can’t just nonstop argue or it’s impossible to believe they’re attracted to each other. I mean, you’ve shifted the tone from mean to witty repartee.”

“Exactly, fighting’s a terrible way to show you like someone.” Will couldn’t wait to be alone again so he could give himself a good slap upside the head for this realization.

“The sexual tension is right on point now. Listen, will you run these new pages over to Hannibal? His trailer is just there.”

Will cleared his throat and pretended to notice the trailer for the first time. “Um.”

“Don’t be shy,” Alana urged, “trust me, he’s a cinnamon roll. Easy to talk to, one of the good ones. He’ll be delighted with these changes. I’m hoping it cheers him up a little, you know? As if a broken heart isn’t bad enough, these tabloids are absolutely insatiable.”

“Okay then,” Will resolved, striding to Hannibal’s trailer with his heart in his throat and a fake-confident smile stretching his lips, a painful combination. 

He was only too grateful not to have yet another headache today as well; they had been happening so frequently lately he knew he really ought to go see a doctor soon. As it was, he felt a little warmer than even the balmy day would account for, but maybe he was just nervous -- which in the circumstances, made total sense. How had he gotten himself into this absurd situation? It was like a twisted fever dream version of his worst fanboy nightmare.

When Hannibal opened the door, standing there in all his glory, six feet of trim but solid muscle and angst, he cast tired amber eyes on Will as his features seemed to retract in dread.

_A grimace. What a fantastic reaction for me to call forth in him._

“Is this some kind of prank?” Hannibal asked, resting his head in the doorway, barefoot in grey jeans and another rumpled t-shirt, this one with a faded name of a rock band and an unfortunately ironic cheerful sunshine logo.

“No, actually I--” Will wiped a sweaty palm off on his khaki shorts, then stretched it out as if to shake the actor’s, but Hannibal looked down at the offered hand as if it could not be trusted.

“I’m trying to fathom why you would possibly be here on set, knocking upon my door,” Hannibal continued testily. “Was there perhaps some awful thing about me you forgot to mention the other day, so you’ve come back to make sure you are thorough?” His forehead must have itched, because he rubbed it against the door opening in a way that made Will flinch. 

That could not feel good. But it was like Hannibal couldn’t even summon the energy to use his finger to scratch.

“No, no, look, I’m actually here to whole-heartedly apologize for being a total jerk the other day.” Will offered a wobblier smile. “Well, that’s partly why I’m here.”

Hannibal looked at him, baffled.

“I mean! It’s the big part. The important reason, why I’m here knocking on your trailer door, on your movie set. Because, um, the other thing is I’m a writer, and I’ve been asked to work on the script?” For some damn reason it came out as a question, like he wasn’t sure of his own job.

“So, sorry that I snapped at you. And would you mind having a look at these new pages? Alana sent me over.”

“Alana sent you? On purpose?” Hannibal lingered, both elbows hanging in the doorway now, a precarious pose.

“Hey, I really am sorry. I misunderstood; I thought you were being rude to my friend, and I don’t know, I guess I was having an off-day, too because I’m genuinely not like that. And I obviously had no idea what you were going through--”

Hannibal frowned.

“Ugh, I mean, not that it’s even any of my business what you’re going through, but you know, obviously it’s well-known by now, and I’m divorced, I know how much it sucks, and it’s totally understandable you’d be a little…”

“A little what?” Hannibal lifted his brows and took a step back, crossing his arms.

“Uuuhhhmmmm…..surly?” Will ventured. “Sorry. But you were a little surly. Not mean-surly, but like...flakey-surly.”

“Wonderful.” Hannibal took another step back and waved his arm in sarcastic grandeur. “Please, do come in.”

Will followed him into the trailer and immediately did a double-take at the items neatly lined up on the small table where Hannibal must have been sitting moments before. A well-worn leather satchel was slung over the chair, while a glass with a tiny glazing of brown liquid rested beside a bottle of whiskey and a stack of magazines, topped off by _US Weekly_ ’s latest big scoop. Beside that stuff was an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes.

“Welcome to my pity party,” Hannibal greeted, sinking back into his chair and then reaching his hand out. “May I have the new pages, please?”

Will handed him the script and Hannibal looked up at him when their clumsy fingers briefly brushed together, sending a shiver down Will’s spine and a deeper blush into his cheeks. 

Christ. Hannibal was even more of a mess now than he had been the other day; for one thing, his stubble had grown in deeper, and he was rocking a neck beard, but he was still just jaw-droppingly handsome, with a raw charisma that poured off of his being. 

“Um. I’m sorry, uh--”

“Will Graham,” he re-introduced himself.

“Will, may I offer you some refreshment, ehhh…” He looked down at the table, drumming his fingers. “Whiskey? A cigarette? Oh! Or perhaps…” He headed for the small fridge on the floor and pried open the freezer section on top. “Ice cream? I’ve been saving this as well, for when I read the tabloids. I thought I might use the whiskey as a topping.” He took out the pint-sized carton and swayed it in yet more sarcastic enthusiasm. “It’s rocky road.”

“I’m okay. So, you smoke?” Will sank into the chair across from him as he returned, rolling up the pages and fidgeting with them.

“No, well, that is, I quit. I quit about, uhh, five years ago?” Hannibal clasped his jaw and rubbed it in thought. “At the behest of my lovely wife. But now seems like a great time to start up again. Just don’t tell Alana, she’s worried enough about me as it is. They’re sending the barber over in the morning, of course. She didn’t even recognize me when I first showed up; I guess I look like some crazed vagrant at this point.”

A hot crazed vagrant.

“Oh, you look fine.” Will ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the marble-patterned table, hearing the uncertainty in his own tone but knowing it might come off differently than what it really was. Inside, Will was thinking Hannibal looked amazing, like he just walked out of a particularly sexy whump fic, the kind where the hunky male lead took an angsty beating, but all Hannibal would hear was…

“Stop, stop, you don’t have to butter me up, I’m not in charge of whether you keep this job. Give me your honesty, hmm?” Hannibal pointed at him in encouragement. “That’s what you’re good at.”

“Okay, but I really do think you look fine, all things considered.”

“Broken heart and crushed dreams notwithstanding? Why, thank you. They’re having my hair colored, too, unless I can somehow evade their attempts.” He pouted, moving on from worrying the script to play with the bottle on the table, spinning it lazily.

Will furrowed his brow. “Why would they want to change your hair color?”

“It’s gone greyer,” He explained, sifting his long fingers through it as if totally unaware that the sight of this move was insanely fucking attractive. “I don’t like being such a fake, but I’ve got to keep my job. Network wanted it dyed by September anyway, all black.”

“Bleh! No, you can’t!” Will insisted, suddenly feeling he must defend the actor's hair as if it was one of his dearest friends, which sadly it actually might be. “Your hair is really great, I love the way it has what, like three or four different colors in it? There’s like a dark blonde fading out of a brown, and then a silver starting to seep through it, like this lovely ethereal thread, and it’s very unusual, striking. Your fans love your hair.”

“Hmm. I’ve been told it’s making me look old.” 

“What? But that’s the whole appeal of you! That’s why the _BL_ fans are so obsessed with your aesthetic, why you have fangirl crushes by the legion. It’s _because_ you're old!”

“Wow.” Hannibal relaxed slightly for the first time since Will had seen him today, settling back in his chair, pushing his thumb into his bottom lip contemplatively.

“I mean, not old, but just--”

“No, I’ll take it,” Hannibal laughed, and the sound seemed to surprise him slightly. “Really. Thank you, I’m happy to take that. I’d much prefer to be admired for the way I am. I think part of their argument is that vampires don’t age, so my hair shouldn’t get any greyer, but perhaps...” 

He shrugged, “Perhaps Draven feels like putting on a front that he’s aging, just so the townsfolk don’t get too suspicious as the decades wear on and --” He mimed stabbing himself in the heart, making a loud clucking noise with his tongue -- “Stake me in my sleep. After all,” he gestured to the lines that crinkled charmingly beside his eyes when he smiled, “These aren’t going away either. I think perhaps you’re right, that I should fight them on this hair topic.”

“There you go,” Will grinned, surprised at how light his heart felt all of a sudden. He felt brave enough to ask another question.

“So...are you...really planning to eat ice cream, get drunk, smoke, and read all these sad, probably fabricated accounts of your split from Bedelia?” Will asked, keeping his tone frank since he could already tell Hannibal despised artifice.

“Thought I’d put out a few cigarettes on my arm while I’m at it.” Hannibal reached for the _US Weekly_ , clearly deriving far too much masochistic enjoyment from wallowing. “Or maybe in my eye.”

“Cut it out, that’s enough,” Will interrupted, taking the _US_ from Hannibal as he cast the younger man a bemused look. “This is an intervention.” 

Will took the cigarettes and put them in his own messenger bag, along with the lighter, then screwed the cap back on the whiskey and slid it under the table. 

The screenwriter got the ice cream out of the freezer and opened it up, finding a spoon in the kitchenette area. He put the ice cream with the spoon sticking out on the table in front of Hannibal. “Here, you can have the ice cream. Now, if you really want to know what these articles say, I’ll tell you. But don’t sit here poring over all these pictures of happier times. You deserve better than that.”

“You don’t know me,” Hannibal argued, but this didn’t stop him from spooning up some Rocky Road and trying a small bite before dropping the utensil with another wave of angst. “Oh, dear. I’m so depressed I can’t taste anything.”

“That’s not even good ice cream, anyway. If you want _real_ ice cream, you come by my dads’ diner; my dad Reggie makes the absolute best hot fudge sundae you’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Hannibal seemed taken aback by the invitation.

“Yup. Come by sometime, we’ll hook you up. Now, are you ready for this tabloid nonsense?”

“You seemed so angry the other day, but now you seem rather...nice,” Hannibal marveled. “Like a human being.”

Will laughed, amazed to find that the sound came out clear and musical, as unoffended by Hannibal’s honesty as the actor had been by Will’s own.

“I guess first impressions don’t tell us everything.”

Will flipped open _US_ , moving past the familiar “Who Wore it Best” section and several “Celebrities -- they’re just like us!” spreads to get to the real, juicy meat of the issue, namely Hannibal’s broken heart.

“Okay, this one says you’ve been having an affair with Margot Verger,” Will announced, naming the actress who played Rosamunda on _Blood Law_. “I mean, you do have a lot of chemistry.”

Hannibal laughed, “No, we’re friends. I never cheated on Bedelia.”

“Good to know.” He cleared his throat delicately and turned the page. “Apparently the reason for the affair was that you and Bedelia couldn’t decide whether to have another child. You adopted Abigail after her parents’ deaths a few years ago, and this so-called writer thinks it’s past time you guys continued growing your family, or it must be a sign of something wrong. _I_ think that’s ridiculous of them to suppose, by the way.”

“It was difficult enough to convince Bedelia we should take Abigail in, as she’s not exactly the maternal type.” Hannibal stopped picking at the ice cream and put the spoon down on the inside of the lid. “ Is that all they’ve got?”

Will nodded. “That, and the relationship timeline charting the course of your love through the years-- nuh-ah-ah,” he said, swiping the magazine out of reach as Hannibal reached for it.

“Why are you trying to inundate yourself with this stuff?” Will asked. “It’s not healthy.”

Hannibal pressed his lips together, considering the question for a few beats. “Because...I can’t feel anything anymore except for pain. And I’d rather feel something. Being numb is its own special kind of nightmare.”

Will knew exactly what he meant, but Hannibal’s candor threw him for a loop. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know,” Hannibal chuckled drily, “I feel comfortable with you somehow, maybe because you’ve already insulted me.”

“Sorry,” Will cringed.

“That’s alright,Will. I don’t feel as though you’ll lie to me, anyway. But I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have unloaded all of my troubles onto you like that.”

“I’m glad you did,” Will said honestly. “Hey, how long do you have to stick around here?”

“Truth be told, I don’t. I’m actually here today because I had nothing better to do. They hardly need me for pre-production set-up.” A husky chortle, another swipe of his hand through rumpled hair, a lovely sight beneath the sunlight which snuck through the barely cracked-open blinds beside them. “It’s just that I can’t only sit around in the enormous mansion where I’m staying; I’ve already worn out my lungs yodeling to test the acoustics.”

Annnd he was funny, too. Why? Will asked the most likely unconcerned and/or cruel god(s) above. Surely it wasn’t necessary to wreak such havoc on his neatly organized heart, the one he kept under such careful lock and key, over someone who would never reciprocate this ill-advised attraction. Unfortunately, Will was finding that he liked the havoc, which was kind of like having a crush on the gallows you were being dragged towards, and furthermore, he was warming to the sensation of Hannibal’s potential friendship as if it was something he’d ever actually get to keep. 

More than anything in this moment, Will felt Hannibal’s pain as surely as if it had originated within the locked-down walls of his own heart, throbbing against the tight constraints of his composure and insistence on never falling in love again. And Will wanted to help him; he believed he could, and it seemed like more than ego, or trying to impress Hannibal; it felt like caring.

“Perfect. You’re coming with me, then.” Will stood and scanned the trailer, quickly locating Hannibal's fancy summer loafers; they were leather, cognac-colored, and in no way did they go with the careless attire Hannibal had on, but they would have to do. He didn't know where Hannibal had scrounged up his current outfit, as he had never even seen a paparazzi street photo of the star not wearing an amazing suit, just to run errands. It seemed doubtful there was a pair of sandals or sneakers hiding around here. Will placed the shoes on the floor near Hannibal with a nod, then extended his hand. “I’m taking you to get some real food, and we’re going to work out a plan for you to feel better.”

“Um, very well, but why?” Hannibal put his shoes on, then looked curiously at Will’s hand, his gaze traveling up his wrist to the curve of Will's well-defined arm beneath his white, short-sleeved button-down shirt.

Will felt goosebumps every inch of the way the older man’s eyes followed his body, and the feeling intensified when their eyes met, blue cresting over golden-brown like a helplessly enveloping wave.

How the hell did Hannibal manage to make even the non-words “um” and “uhh” seem sexy with that charming attitude of his, the accent only making it a million times worse? 

“Because I’ve been there,” Will explained, “in the land of the suddenly dumped spouse walking around like a zombie while everyone else gets on with their life and you have to feign normalcy but you can’t really find it anywhere inside you. I know the type of therapy that works for that.”

“That is exactly how it feels,” Hannibal admitted, letting Will gently tug him to a stand. “Are you a therapist?” His fingers stayed lightly enclosed within Will’s own like an impossible secret.

“What?” Will laughed. “No, I’m an English teacher. Sometimes when I stumble into a bit of luck, I’m able to write. But trust me, I have been through some hard times on the love front. Let me be your post-break-up tour guide? I mean, I kind of owe you after insulting you like that at the convention.”

Hannibal considered. “Increasingly, I’m finding I don’t regret that so much.”

“Me too,” Will smiled, leading him outside and dropping his hand out of dutiful platonic appropriateness, by no means an easy surrender, but a sensible one.

Hannibal grabbed a pair of black ray bans from his trousers’ pocket and smacked them on his face with the same lack of concern for his body which he’d been showing all morning. He might block out the sun from his sore eyes, but he’d probably hurt his nose with the careless, chaotic masochism. Will wanted so badly to show Hannibal he deserved better; he could still be happy. A funny thing, since Will almost never believed this about himself when he got depressed.

“So,” Hannibal resumed, an answering smile just barely tweaking his lips. “Where are we going?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: an impromptu sort-of first date!


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal trailed Will to a lightly dented, maroon Toyota, realizing that he finally felt something other than sadness, and it was curiosity. He could lie to himself that it was merely curiosity about the screenwriter’s shift from vitriol to potential friendship, or the knee-jerk kindness with which Wil offered to help him. He might wonder about himself, why he was spilling his proverbial guts to a total stranger. After all, _everyone_ had been asking for the truth about Hannibal’s feelings in the wake of his marriage imploding, and he’d remained closed-off, except with Will.

He could wonder about the laws of time and destiny, bringing this strangely fascinating man back into his life after such an inauspicious first encounter.

Yet somehow, every single one of these questions seemed to be sliding down Will’s tousled hair along with the sunlight, caressing the breeze-tossed strands. Hannibal’s curiosity swirled along with the warm summer wind shifting the material of Will’s shirt until it fluttered up slightly, revealing a smooth, beguiling back. He was momentarily fixated by the swerve of Will’s hips, the movement feeling somehow musical, poetry in motion. Subtly as he could, he studied the flex in Will’s toned calves. There was a Dora the Explorer bandaid on Will’s ankle, which made Hannibal smile; such a typical thing for a father of small children to make use of in a pinch. So, Will was a dad as well. And it all added up, an equation of illogical logic. He knew what he had known at the bloody stupid fancon, that he was damnably attracted to this man. Before, the notion had lain dormant like a rose on the coffin of his ability to summon cogent thought or process a feeling, but now it felt disarmingly real, as if this was leading somewhere he wanted to go.

“Shit,” Will muttered, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he reached across the driver’s seat to clear off the passenger side. “Sorry.”

He yanked up piles of folders, notebooks, and cd’s, and stuffed them into the two carseats in back, then Hannibal settled in beside him and Will said in that sweet voice of his, sweet but not syrupy, just kind and fair and good, soft and sturdy all at once, “Wow, this is weird.”

“Can you be a bit more specific?” Hannibal lifted a brow with a half-smile and he giggled. 

Making Will Graham laugh could easily become a favorite addiction, but he was freshly on the rebound at best and not in the market for that kind of thing! He still couldn’t help letting the thought linger, the most pleasant idea he had thought about in quite some time.

“Draven is in my car!” Will leaned back and looked at him in surreal astonishment, dropping his jaw in comic exaggeration of the sentiment. “How can I drive you around in my rattled little car? Is this even real?”

“Uh, yes, sure. I’m along for the ride wherever it goes.” While Hannibal kept his composure reasonably well, he reddened slightly, regretting the word choice.

_“Along for the ride, wherever it goes?” A little too flirty! Try not to make it so obvious you’re ridiculously drawn to him._

Will, however, took Hannibal’s breath away by blushing all the way up to his dark roots that spilled over into luscious curls, and as he bit his lip, he left a trace of what looked like clear chapstick on his front teeth. 

Hannibal had noticed the slight sheen on the younger man’s lips, and consequently he’d spent the last half hour wondering if that chapstick would be slick and/or sticky against his own mouth, and how it would taste if he swept his tongue over Will’s lips or better yet, sucked on his plump bottom lip, and this wasn’t helping. He thought it was probably mint-flavored; he could just about catch the light scent in the air between them, along with the sort of cheap aftershave he would normally condemn. Now it seemed bizarrely charming, that woodsy smell on Will’s summer-warm skin. 

“Okay, then.” Will fanned himself and cackled, downright cackled; it was adorable. “I’ll contain my belated starstruck reaction as much as possible.”

Hannibal considered Will’s words carefully as his tour guide to heartbreak turned on some music -- British pop, dreamy and nostalgic for the ‘80’s although it was probably a newish artist (Hannibal himself was embarrassingly clueless about “cool” recent pop culture) -- and backed smoothly out of his parking spot, only the tight clutch of lovely hands on the wheel to indicate nervousness. Will had clean, neatly-trimmed nails, long fingers -- strong, working hands. More strength than he would have accrued as a teacher...surely Will had some mechanical hobby? Or a fondness for hiking, perhaps fishing…

It would be awkward to ask, but each new theory about the mysterious young man had Hannibal longing to know more and more. 

Once they were on the highway, he drummed the rolled-up script pages on the side of his door, chewing his own bottom lip for another moment of thought, the next blossoming layer of his curiosity.

“So, you’re a big _Blood Law_ fan?”

Will grinned, “Hell, yeah, _BL_ rules! Nothing better than putting the kids to bed, pouring myself a nice glass of red wine--”

“Oh, well, naturally the red.”

“Naturally. And snuggling up on the couch for the latest _BL_ , or a rerun, I’m not picky. That show has everything I love: fantasy, action, mystery, plenty of gushing angst, cheesiness, comedy and of course, you.”

The curves of Will’s cheeks turned pink again. Quite accidentally, the thought formed in Hannibal’s mind by way of response: _You’re an angel._

“Me?” Hannibal smirked with disingenuous modesty, feeling more like his old self.

Will snorted. “Yes, Mr. Humble, jeez, Alana was right about you, you really are a cinnamon roll. But I know you know you’re brilliant. Draven is such an intense, multi-faceted role, and you balance out his dry humor, his violence, his sadness and broken idealism with such graceful subtlety, God! You present this full, detailed tapestry of a man’s soul with the slightest vocal inflection, or a glint in your eye, a twitch around your mouth, it’s extraordinary.”

He pulled onto a nondescript, industrial-looking street, and Hannibal didn’t know where they even were; he knew nothing of America outside New York and Los Angeles, and hadn’t ventured out much into Baltimore since arriving.

Moreover, after Will’s words, that flood of truthful amazement, Hannibal really didn’t know where he was in a much deeper sense.

“Thank you,” said Hannibal, feeling from the heat in his cheeks that he seemed to be glowing slightly. “You know, I can tell you are a writer. You have a brilliant way of putting sentences together.”

Will looked slightly mortified by the compliment and deflected with, “Your English is excellent, by the way. How many languages do you speak?”

Was it just Hannibal’s over analytical imagination, or was Will changing the subject once it landed on himself? That last switch wasn’t even smooth, just random and almost quietly desperate.

Hannibal took a beat to consider Will’s bashful attitude quietly, then decided to humor him. “Um, perhaps four...let’s see, obviously there is Lithuanian, and then French, German and English. Although apparently my French isn’t quite up to expectation. I made a movie there a few years ago and they later decided to dub my entire vocal track.”

“Mistake.” 

Will parallel parked outside a shiny blue diner which didn’t match any of the run-down buildings around it. The look of the restaurant gave Hannibal the distinct impression they’d gone back in time to an age of innocence, replete with milkshakes and bobby-soxers. 

“I’d rather listen to you speaking French with a heavy accent than hear some random other guy’s voice speaking perfect French, artificially imposed on your face. That just sounds like it would feel so fake,” Will continued thoughtfully.

Hannibal shrugged. “It was frustrating, actually, but it was an intriguing little film, and I had fun making it, plus still got paid, and so I cannot complain.”

“You can complain when you get frustrated, it’s allowed,” Will corrected him fluidly. Then he nodded to the diner, smiling. “Let’s go.”

Hannibal’s phone buzzed and he pressed it to his ear, muttering “Hi, Jack” as he lifted one finger to let Will know he needed to linger outside the door for a moment.

“Hi Hannibal,” said Jack with that practiced facade of the ever-enduring martyr, “Where are you at this afternoon, pray-tell?”

“Well, I am just heading into a lunch with the screenwriter Will Graham,” Hannibal explained, absolutely loving that there was, against all reason, a reasonable explanation for his current whereabouts. “To discuss the latest rewrites.”

Sarcasm dripped from Jack’s tone as he replied, “I’d be thrilled that you were recommitting yourself to this film with such enthusiasm, except that it seems so drastically unlikely given what you’re going through, and given that I know you’re a sensitive, gentle, sentimental soul, Hannibal, so tell me, is this a rebound fling you’re initiating with the goddamn screenplay re-writer?”

“Of course not.” Hannibal scratched at the back of his neck where a small rash seemed incited by Jack’s guess. 

Will was standing a few feet away, sunglasses perched atop his head as he checked his phone.

_As if he’d have me. I’m a wreck right now, “star” or not._

But anyway, no; Will wasn’t the man you had a rebound fling with, and that was precisely why Hannibal’s booming disaster area of a heart kept jumping at all of his cute quirks and manifestations of untouchable beauty. Who was Hannibal, really, if not a connoisseur of impossible desires?

“Hmm. And where is this ‘lunch?’” Hannibal could practically hear Jack making air-quotes around the word.

“We are at the…” He craned back to look at the big, currently unlit neon sign overhead. “The Blue Slate Diner, not far from the set.”

“Humph. Make it snappy please, and get your ass back home by five. You have a workout with Jimmy; and then we’ll work on a break-up announcement tweet. Genevieve already called with some ideas.”

Oh, _Genevieve_ , Bedelia’s snobby, know-it-all publicist, always rolling her eyes at Hannibal’ pedestrian opinions over every annoying dinner they had to share because they were connected, like thin and dubious sinew, to Bedelia’s public image. 

Hannibal wasn’t going to miss Genevieve. It might actually be the biggest fringe benefit of this divorce.

“Please simply let Bedelia’s people send the tweet on both of our behalf. I'm really not concerned with what it says.”

Hannibal paced around, garnering some perplexed looks from passers-by, although on a weekday mid-afternoon there were few shoppers and diners about, and most of them either not the _BL_ demographic, or probably unable to see who he was through the haze of his hair curtaining his brow and one eye, the mess of stubble slowly starting to take over his face like a briar-ridden forest. Additionally, the way he was dressed formed its own clever disguise, although that hadn’t been the reason for the wardrobe change.

“You have to care, Hannibal!” Jack’s annoyed voice recalled him to the moment. “This is your life, this is your career, you are not Henry David Thoreau, okay?”

“Breathe, Jack,” Hannibal sighed, stopping his pacing. “I’ll discuss it with you back at the house tonight, okay? We’ll get some sushi--”

“Fine, but there had better be sake, or I will be miffed, Hannibal, significantly miffed; it has been a day. Rodrigo’s off the rails…”

Rodrigo Sanchez was the hunky star of a steamy prime-time soap which aired on the same network in the timeslot right before _BL_ , and he was also, with his diva antics and penchant for wild pranks or larks of fancy veering on the edge of self-destruction, the bane of Jack’s existence.

“Right, I understand, and so Jack we will discuss it all later, and thank you so much for keeping me abreast.”

“Watch it with the screenwriter, Hannibal. I can hear that cute little crush voice you used to say his name--”

“I most certainly did not,” Hannibal objected.

“Oh, yes you did. Don’t forget, I know you, my friend. One fling this soon after your marriage ends, and the tabloids will have a field day. The whole world will be reading about how you’ve been a cheater all along--”

“Okay, goodbye now, Jack,” Hannibal cut him and the call off, slipping the phone away with the feeling he was deferring a long list of problems which would surely stalk him at least over the length of this whole summer.

Then it would be back to Vancouver for shooting Season 7, which as far as he was concerned truly couldn’t come fast enough. Thank God he had this movie, in the meantime, to throw himself into. And by association, now there was Will…

The flash of Will’s pearly, gleaming teeth as he realized Hannibal was done and free to talk with him again; the grey clouding over cerulean in a baffling combination of reticence and wildness in the young man’s eyes, yes. It was _nice_ , rather an unexpected relief, being able to admire this man so specifically, and to have it not be an adulterous inclination. Another fringe benefit of having been finally let go from his marriage, like an employee being laid off after years of knowing it was coming, that losing the gig would be the inevitable conclusion of changing times and his own old-fashioned, idealistic work ethic. And nothing in his life had ever been harder work than that marriage.

 _Stop it,_ he snapped at his brain, not that all these inappropriate impulses regarding Will came only from his thoughts. It was embarrassing but undeniable: being broken-hearted had left him easily aroused. He admitted to himself, although he seldom used such coarse language, he was painfully, ravenously _horny_. And he’d been broken-hearted for years. There was something of the danger of opening floodgates, and it was up to him to barricade, once again. Who else was he, really, if not the curator of his own indecent, unacted-upon fantasies? 

Resignation was one facet Hannibal had honed inside and outside himself to admirable perfection; you could hardly see the scars of the feelings he’d sewed back in and kept bolted down in place over time and the continually departing spectres of untaken chances. If you wanted to see them, you had to look so close, and who would ever want that?

“Ahem,” Hannibal fumbled, blinking past his spiraling thoughts, “Sorry about that. My agent is a bit of a micromanager, but he’s a great friend.”

“That’s awesome,” Will answered brightly, “Let me introduce you to a couple of other great guys I know.”

But just then Hannibal caught sight of a familiar head of bright red hair on the street corner nearby and let out an irritated snarl. “Just one more thing, first, excuse me a moment.”

“Hello, Ms. Lounds,” he smiled joylessly as his most consistently stalking paparazzi “journalist,” Freddie Lounds, lowered her heart-shaped sunglasses and gave him a smug nod in greeting. 

“Hannibal. Out for a nice lunch with a charming new friend, I see? You can’t exactly blame me for wanting to document this fine occasion, I mean, the people want to know what you’re up to now that you and Bedelia are kaput. You’re not wasting any time, I take it!”

“Ms. Lounds, go ahead and do what you want with the photos you’ve taken so far, although the young man is only a new friend and co-worker and not a love interest, and although you’re once again stomping on my very last nerve. Will you please just leave me alone for the rest of the day; surely you got enough evidence of my scandalous afternoon.”

She laughed. “Oh, not nearly enough, and the people are seriously clamoring for this shit. No one believes you and Bedelia could actually break up so politely! Honestly, I’m both relieved and fascinated to finally be gathering some evidence on what’s really going on.”

“You don’t have a clue what’s going on, now just scamper off.”

“Have a lovely lunch, Hannibal! I promise to only get your good side.”

Hannibal met Freddie’s acid smile with a coy, yet lethal smirk. “I have nothing _but_ good sides, Ms. Lounds.”

This was nothing new, and normally Hannibal treated Freddie Lounds and the other tabloid photographers like meaningless ghosts drifting behind him, but he didn’t want to drag Will into some gossip rag nonsense, and nor did he particularly care to annoy Jack by ruining the post-break-up press coverage. But seriously, where could he go, what could he do that would not be photographed and misconstrued willfully in the most salacious way possible? It was going to be a nightmare, between the photographers who had already made stalking him their mission in life, and the ones who regularly camped outside Georgia’s house year-round, assuming they might get a precious, richly rewarding glimpse of the starlet at any moment. In her absence, they would probably be happy to settle for photographing her less famous but still marketable houseguest.

“Okay,” he said sheepishly when he returned to the curious-looking Will. “Can we get a table far back from the window?”

Inside, the diner was even more of a time machine, gleaming silver kitchen fully visible behind a bar with aqua colored stools, then an array of booths of the same bright shade, the floor a black-and-white square tile plaid, the few patrons musing quietly on life over milkshakes and burgers.

There was an elderly couple, then a group of similarly older men playing cards, and a mom with her five or six year old son, probably because he’d had a doctor’s appointment that day and earned a treat, judging by the stickers in his fist and the lollipop stick resting on the napkin by his elbow.

“Ohhh, I miss my daughter,” Hannibal reflected as the sentiment hit him like a gut punch. “I haven’t seen her in three weeks.”

“Are you going to see her again soon?” Will asked as they sank into a booth on the back wall with laminated menus on the table, plus a tall glass full of straws and several bottles boasting varieties of ketchup which Hannibal hadn’t been aware existed. 

“Bedelia is filming in London until the end of July, and then she’ll be heading back home, or what was our home, I suppose it is hers now, in Canada, and I can then have Abigail to stay with me in Baltimore for the remainder of the summer.”

“Where are you going to live once _BL_ starts back up? Sorry, none of my business.”

“It’s my business, of course, but I haven’t a clue, so it doesn’t really matter,” Hannibal chuckled, glancing at the menu. “So what is good?”

“Everything, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you’d better keep it light and choose something with some damn nutrients. When was the last time you ate?”

“Uhhh…” Hannibal’s stomach suddenly lurched with starvation pangs at the scent of savory food in the air, fire-grilled beef and fresh tomatoes, and he tried to remember. “I think there was at some point yesterday...a pizza.”

“Right. I would go for the mediterranean turkey burger, it’s to die for, trust me. There’s this sauce on it that’s like, I don’t even know, a hummus, red roasted peppers? Reggie?”

Will called for the man flipping burgers on the other side of the counter and he nodded, already aware of his presence; it was also peaceful enough in here, with only the low hum of conversation aside from the sizzling meat and the small boy’s occasional whining or jubilation, that Will could easily be heard without yelling.

“Just a sec, Will,” the chef replied, shifting the burgers onto their buns and ringing the bell. 

A gum-smacking waitress in her fifties with bright red hair and a suitably retro, blue uniform dress complete with apron and a little white cap took the tray of food and nodded, “Table four.”

“Lose the gum, Wanda, jeez,” the chef sighed, “I’ve been telling you this for ten years now at least.”

Reggie, a tall black man, slightly balding, with a square-cut goatee, ambled over to his newest customers and said casually, “What’s up?”

Will asked, “Dad, what do you put in that sauce that comes on the Mediterrean turkey burger? It’s red pepper hummus, right?”

“Now, that would be telling,” Reggie smirked, tapping the side of his nose. 

He had warm chestnut eyes exuding tremendous kindness, and an energy in his movements showing an easy strength and vitality which were admirable; Hannibal hoped he had that amount of vigor coming back to him at some point in the near future, never mind when he was in his sixties as this man seemed to be.

“Should have known you’d say that. Dad, this is Hannibal Lecter, he’s starring in the movie I’m script doctoring. Hannibal, this is my dad, Reggie, owner of this fine establishment.”

“Hello, sir,” Hannibal smiled a bit sheepishly, feeling somehow intimidated by how put-together this man was, how solid his relationship with his son appeared as Hannibal’s own life was a pile of dislodged tectonic plates. He started to stand up, but Reggie gave a low whistle and waved off the attempt.

“Now, son, you don’t have to stand, but--” He gave Will a pointed look. “I like this one, Will. Manners. What did I always tell you about that good-for-nothing ex-husband of yours?”

“No manners,” chimed in a second man, this one around the same age as Reggie, and a couple of inches shorter. He was caucasian with a dark beard and close-shorn hair, thin and spare as Reggie was a bit softer but obviously strong.

“But I’ve told you to stop haranguing Will about that, Reg.” The newcomer, decked out in the same plain white managerial-chef’s attire as Reggie, and wearing a name-tag announcing, “Robbie,” frowned. “None of us need to be dragged down ex-significant-other memory lane, and ‘I told you so’ are the most useless words in the English language. I mean, before we got together, how many times did I try to ‘tell you so’ about Bedford Shaw?”

“Oh, now, there’s no need to go digging in the crates,” Reggie scowled. “Anyway, you were only so dead-set on Bedford being the devil because you wanted me for yourself. But okay, point taken. Sorry, Will.”

“It’s okay, you’re not wrong. Manners are terrific.” Will’s finger traced the edge of the menu where a small plastic tab holding the laminated cover in place had fallen off, his nail traipsing under the clear sheen as his eyes watched the process as if it was the only thing preventing him from meeting Hannibal’s gaze at that moment. “They’re _so_ important. Although I think it’s _rude_ that you won’t tell me what’s in that sauce.”

Reggie guffawed. “Nevah!” He declared in a fake English accent. “Hey, Rob, this is Hannibal, he’s working on that new movie with Will. Hannibal, this is my husband, Robbie.”

“That’s wonderful,” Robbie glowed, clearly intuiting that this was a date, causing Hannibal to wish it was and therefore enjoy the illusion. “You two must be starving, hard at work all day, down there with those paparazzi and tourists staring at you.”

“Well, it’s a closed set,” Hannibal answered amusedly. 

“Thank God, HarborPlace is wretched,” Robbie bemoaned, “I mean it’s worse than Block Island, nothing but overpriced seafood and badly fitting souvenier t-shirts in ungodly shades of yellow. Want a real vacation, get on a damn plane, am I right?”

“Is that supposed to be a hint?” Reggie took out a pad and pen from his apron pocket.

“It’s been a hint since our twentieth anniversary six months ago, but I’ve yet to see the slightest hint of a pay-off,” Robbie retorted.

“Someday…” Reggie sighed, “There’s a lot to do around here, I don’t have to tell you that, and what with Will and the kids--”

“Dad, I can take care of myself and the kids! You should take Dad on a beautiful vacation, you two have more than earned it.” Will tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and cradled his face in one hand. 

“Mmmhmm.” Reggie sighed. “What if something breaks, or whoever we get to watch this place does a shoddy job and we lose what’s left of our regular customers?”

Robbie interpreted, “I don’t think we’re going to solve the vacation puzzle today, kids. Better just tell him what you’re having to eat.”

Reggie tapped the pen on the pad in low-simmering tension until his husband brushed a kiss to his cheek and put an arm around him to squeeze his shoulder. 

“That’s fine, sweetie, we’ll find a time someday.” Robbie’s eyes, a shade darker than Reggie’s so that they appeared almost black, held a gentle understanding that the day may or may not ever come, but that wasn’t nearly as important as a simple kiss and squeeze right then.

“Trust me on the turkey burger?” Will asked.

“Alright, that sounds great,” Hannibal agreed affably. “Is there perhaps a salad for the side? My personal trainer is already going to be upset with me if he so much as guesses what I’ve been eating lately.”

“There’s almost a side salad right on top of the burger,” Reggie explained. “Why don’t I bring you some sweet potato wedges, you have a batch going, Rob? Those are healthy enough, they’re baked, not fried. Beta-carotene is good for you and all.”

“Yes, and I do a pink Himalayan rock salt on top, it’s absolutely killer,” said Robbie, sounding just like Will.

“Perfect, thanks so very much,” Hannibal smiled. “Maybe just some water with lemon to drink?”

“Make that two,” Will requested, and his dads were off again, heading for the kitchen bickering lovingly about some other small inconvenience regarding vidalia onions.

***

“So, how did you get to be such an expert?” Hannibal inquired, squeezing the lemon wedge into his water, shielding his glass with one hand just in case any spare sprays of lemon juice might otherwise pelt Will.

 _Manners_ , Will reflected.

“On getting over a break-up?” Hannibal added to clarify as he sipped his drink.

“Oh! I’m not a love expert or anything, like those Trolls in _Frozen,_ you know? Sorry, that’s such a Dad reference.”

Hannibal laughed softly. “No, I’m quite familiar with the love expert Trolls, actually. Abigail had me watch it; she calls it ‘required viewing.’”

“My four year old sings the entire soundtrack every single morning when she wakes up. She puts on her Elsa dress and lets it go! She’s such a morning person.” Will pulled a face, even though he knew that when he talked about his kids, he naturally glowed, unable to resist gushing about his precious ones. They were, after all, the only things in Will’s life to date he’d managed to get right.

“Yes, it’s nice to have one of those in the family.” Hannibal sat back and moved his glass over to make room when the waitress, Wanda, brought their burgers.

For a moment, they admired the Greek-seasoned, juicy, cooked-to-perfection burgers, hugged in fluffy pitas and framed by thick tomato slices and crispy romaine, a layer of tzaki on top and a spread of that mysterious red pepper sauce below.

“I see you really weren’t exaggerating,” Hannibal enthused after chewing the first sensational bite. “This is amazing.”

“I know, right?” Will grinned, swirling a sweet potato wedge in some spicy ketchup, grateful that the food’s arrival had apparently diverted Hannibal from inquiring any further into his personal life.

It was bad enough that Will had to keep shoving down his embarrassment over writing explicit fanfiction about Hannibal’s character, but he truly sucked at opening up to people, whether it was new friends or someone he was just starting to date. “Duck and cover, and if necessary, run” tended to be his go-to method. Most of his intact friendships pre-dated his divorce, when this self-protective instinct had become more intense, and he didn’t seem to be able to do anything to make himself calm down and be more okay with sharing. 

When you shared yourself with people, they saw through you, saw everything wrong with you that had led you to make your life such a monumental disaster and all the reasons why you were someone to be wary of. It was better to keep things casual and surface-level, for Will’s own peace of mind and the ability to be able to socialize at all. Who, other than Bev, who had known him since college, or Will’s family, would really want to tolerate all his eccentricities and flaws? No wonder Frederick had slipped so easily from the idea of forever monogamy. Will obviously wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t fun to expose that trait.

“And so, non-love expert, are you seeing someone lately? Dating, I mean,” Hannibal asked, causing Will to blush and nearly choke.

“Not right now. I’ve been divorced for about a year, and…” _That’s it, keep it light, leave out the details, give him just enough to avoid being out-and-out rude_. “It’s tough out there. Hard to meet people.”

“How did you know your marriage was over?” Hannibal smiled conspiratorially. “Were they a morning person?”

“Frederick? God, no!” He laughed in spite of himself as a layer of instinctual restraint fell away without him even realizing it. “He’s a nightmare in the morning. Although that wasn’t his worst quality. I think the worst was the petty snobbery. No, no, it was the fact that he hates dogs. I always wanted dogs.”

“You could have them now, surely. You’re independent. One of the few benefits of divorce.”

Will nodded. “I just haven’t had time. My life’s been a mad whirlwind of work and kid stuff since Frederick left and there’s no one, um to…” He paused, frustrated with himself. He had not meant to specifically admit he’d been _left._ Well, there was no taking it back now. Hannibal seemed to draw his honesty so naturally, Will could not entirely resist. 

“No one to hold up the other end of the work, in the household,” Will finished, avoiding Hannibal’s eyes, staring at the vintage records mounted on the wall as his parents’ low-level chatter in the background slightly soothed him.

“If your marriage was anything like mine, perhaps you must ask yourself whether the other end of the work was ever being held up by your former spouse.” Hannibal spoke plainly, so kindly that Will felt a little better about over-sharing.

“I guess you’re right about that, too. Sure you haven’t met Frederick?” Will asked, making them both laugh.

When Hannibal continued, Will could tell he was really interested in everything he had to say. It was an unusual feeling, this sort of attention. It excited him in a new way he couldn’t quite describe to himself, or wouldn’t.

“And, have you had any luck in dating after the break-up with Frederick?” It was so strange, hearing Frederick’s name in Hannibal’s voice. “Haven’t you had any luck with the dating apps? Everyone says they are --”

“The best way to meet people, I know.” Will sighed. “The best way to meet people, if you want to hook up and then never see them again, or else allow some stranger to immediately, obsessively glom onto you and try to leech your whole life away because they are _desperate_ to be in a relationship! Yes, the two extremes of the modern dating world, and if there is something in between, I have yet to encounter it.”

“I don’t think I’d like that, either,” Hannibal frowned. “Not that I can go on there anyway, what with the whole…” He hooked two fingers in front of his mouth and made a feral, beastly face. “Infamous vampire thing.”

“You’re a celebrity, Hannibal,” Will reminded him, charmed by his lack of pretentiousness about the fact. 

“Ah, not so famous, just famous enough to know I can’t go on this Timber--”

“Tinder.”

“Yes, then, this Tinder and pretend to be normal. I’m not normal; I get up at five am nine months out of the year to sit in a trailer and have prosthetic fangs fitted in my mouth, and I spend enough time pretending to sleep in a coffin that I’d probably attract some of these people who believe vampires are real and want to start a coven with me, and I don’t know…” he set his half-eaten burger down and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “It’s so hard to find viable real estate these days for starting up a coven. The investment alone seems like a hassle.”

“I’ve heard that,” Will laughed. “And trust me, you’re plenty famous. My dads just didn’t recognize you from _Blood Law_ because the only shows they watch are _Law and Order_ and all those syndicated sitcoms with the weirdo neighbors who keep coming over uninvited.”

“I was on _Law and Order_ once,” said Hannibal proudly. “I played a psycho-killer, of course, as usual.”

“Do you feel typecast?”

“Not especially. Or if I am, I am having too much fun being bad to care much. And villains usually get all of the good stunts. I love stunts! Bedelia thought I was a little too keen on them, but they are pure excitement and adrenaline. I like the challenge of them, the adventure.”

“I don’t think I could pull off any stunts,” Will mused. “I’m such a total klutz.”

“You’re pulling off the stunt of keeping the conversation focused only on me quite well, Will.” There was a teasing glimmer in Hannibal’s eyes, and Will’s spine actually tingled.

“It’s not that easy for me, necessarily, to share my personal life,” Will admitted. “But...I’ll tell you something. You want to hear something about me?”

Hannibal folded his hands under his chin as if nothing could be more fascinating. 

“Of course I do,” he said.

“This diner is named for my eyes,” Will revealed, landing on a detail both deeply personal and acceptably safe because it was a happy fact. “Because they’re slate-blue.”

“They are a lovely color,” Hannibal replied, his cheeks turning very slightly pink. “Although I have noticed they are different colors as well, depending on the light. Already I have seen shades of jade green and a darker blue, closer to sapphire. Your eyes must be positively brilliant when you wear blue, as that would bring out the color more.”

Will’s heart was racing, but it felt good, actually pleasurable. Hannibal had done this to him, given him this feeling almost as if he could fly. 

“I do like to wear blue pretty often. I guess I do that because it’s such a nice thing to remind myself of. The feeling of being loved. That’s why this is my favorite place, why I come here whenever I’m sad, and it gives me a little lift. I wanted to bring you here because I was hoping it might cheer you up, too.”

“You were right,” Hannibal smiled, setting his hands back down on the table and using them to push back, licking his lips in thought. His beautiful arms in the snug-fitting t-shirt flexed slightly as he stretched, rubbing his hands together. Shifting around, trying to think of what he wanted to say, or if he should, Will guessed, with what strength he had left to understand anything, given how gob-smackingly hot the actor was.

“I feel very much better already, Will Graham. I can’t thank you enough.”

***

Hannibal had to keep reminding himself this was not a date. It was a heartbreak intervention, maybe the start of a promising new friendship, but that was all. He knew it was much too soon for him to be developing feelings for someone new, so why did it seem that this was exactly what was happening? In fact, when he was around Will, he felt attraction much more strongly than he could ever remember it, even with Bedelia. 

As he tried to collect himself and stop any more excessive compliments from jumping out of his mouth, Will suddenly rose from his seat and gave Hannibal the most delightful smile.

“C’mon, let’s dance,” Will suggested, making Hannibal glance around at the sparsely populated diner. No one else was dancing. It was afternoon, which was in general _not_ when people danced in restaurants. But the big jukebox in the corner was playing a peppy song from the 1950’s, “Rock Around the Clock Tonight,” and Will’s sweet face could not be refused. Nor could the chance to touch this handsome young man who had him entirely intrigued.

Before Hannibal knew what happened, he had grinned in response and allowed Will to pull him over to an open space that served well as a dance floor. “Are you a habitual dancer?”

“Hardly,” Will laughed as they began enthusiastically moving to the music, Will’s hand loosely in Hannibal’s, Hannibal’s other hand gently resting on Will’s waist. It was quite enough to get the actor’s pulse racing, especially when Will leaned in close to share, “But I learned to dance to this music standing on my Dads’ feet when I was a kid. It’s easy.”

“I’ve heard exercise is a good way to break out of a depression,” Hannibal smiled before spinning Will around, making the younger man giggle. He felt perfect in Hannibal’s arms, as if they had always belonged together.

“That’s the idea,” Will said happily. “It gets the blood pumping.”

“Yes, well, Jimmy would certainly approve. Sadly, I’ve skipped my workouts most days this week,” Hannibal admitted.

“You haven’t been yourself, have you? I mean, no offense, but what in the world are you wearing?” Will blinked at Hannibal’s attire as if it had been baffling him all day. “You always look terrific…”

Hannibal blushed and spun him again. “Why thank you.”

He did feel wonderful, recalling that he loved to dance and perhaps life did go on. Perhaps he was going to be fine, and if a voice in the back of his head warned he was attempting to fast-forward past the difficult parts of getting over a divorce, Hannibal opted to ignore it at present. 

“But I’ve never seen you dressed so casually.”

“My luggage was lost at the airport,” Hannibal confided as the song ended, followed by a pause as the records changed with a soft click. “They gave me the wrong suitcase, and I wasn’t able to find any identification in it to help me track the correct owner. Thankfully, however, whoever it is happens to be the same size as me, or close enough. I’ve been wearing his somewhat questionable fashion choices for days now. All I have of my own is my ‘comfortable airport outfit’ which is in the wash, and I never did the laundry -- and my shoes.”

“Oh, no,” Will laughed so hard he almost cried. “Why didn’t you just go get yourself some fancy suits, or send one of your servants or whatever to do it?”

“One of my servants?” Hannibal chortled. “I spend most of my time lately trying to avoid the people who work for me, as it generally seems that I work for them, and I’ve lost my ability to meet their expectations.”

“You meet mine,” Will admitted, slightly breathless. “You’ve exceeded them.”

They were still holding hands, although the music hadn’t resumed yet. Reggie passed them, carrying a tray of food for a nearby table, and winked. “Great moves, you two.”

Hannibal gave him a friendly nod, but his head was buzzing with Will’s words.

They stared at each other in some new shade of bewildered exhilaration for a few more moments, and then a soft love song began to play. Will bit his lip. 

“I guess we should go sit down again.”

“If you wish,” said Hannibal, lifting Will’s hand in invitation. “Or we could have one more dance.”

Will nodded, as if equally under Hannibal’s thrall, a relief since the older man felt almost out of his depths. It wasn’t anything like the bold ambition of trying to constantly please Bedelia, to be rewarded with some temporary approval and affection. Instead, the feeling suggested love could actually be very easy and simple, and that Hannibal had much to learn. It was the sweetest confusion he had ever known.

 _“Wise men say / Only fools rush in / But I can't help falling in love with you…”_ Elvis Presley sang on the jukebox, his voice lush and soft with feeling.

They kept their positions chaste, but the shy smiles they exchanged spoke volumes. Chemistry surged effortlessly between them, and Hannibal wondered, was he imagining this intensity, could this truly be real? Could Will? Could Hannibal’s heart have so much more room left in it than he ever thought?

“May I?” Hannibal asked, guiding Will’s arms up to encircle his neck in a more intimate posture. 

Will said nothing, but allowed the change and shifted closer, resting his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal felt an immediate thrill, as if he had just been given a potent dose of a drug that made one feel simultaneously on top of the world and absolutely terrified. But as he drew Will closer and they continued turning to the song, he noticed that Will’s brow against his shoulder was damp, and his skin was so hot that Hannibal could feel it burning under his shirt.

“Will, are you feeling well?” Hannibal asked in concern, looking down at him.

“‘Mmm fine,” Will said, his voice bizarrely sluggish. He was leaning heavier against Hannibal, and his arms had gone slightly limp around the actor’s neck, his feet dragging through the steps of the dance. As if the exertion from two simple dances had somehow wrung him out completely. “I feel a little odd, but I’m sure it’s nothing…oh. Um, Hannibal.” 

Will looked up at him in sudden surprise. “World spinning. I feel like I’m gonna…”

With that, Will fainted away in Hannibal’s arms.


	4. Chapter 4

“I thank God you were there to catch him,” Reggie said a few hours later in the hospital. “Thank you, Hannibal.”

They stood in the hall outside Will’s room, where Will had been sleeping since he’d been brought in. The doctors had concluded he must have some sort of flu or other infection, that Will was dehydrated. Hannibal mentioned the water Will had just had at lunch, but the doctor shook her head. 

“This sort of illness drains the body completely; he wouldn’t be able to drink enough water to keep going. He needs to be here, on fluids, until his energy is restored. It’s a serious fever.”

“I’m happy to help,” Hannibal assured Reggie now, “I only hope he isn’t seriously ill.”

Reggie nodded and patted Hannibal’s shoulder. “I’m going to call Robbie again. He keeps texting me even though I told him there aren’t any updates.”

“It’s good of him to watch the children,” Hannibal observed.

“Yeah, he’s one of the good guys. And so are you, in case you ever wonder. I can already tell that.”

“Thank you, Reggie.” Hannibal’s heart warmed to the man’s kind words, not founded on interest in his fame or fortune, but just plain friendliness and gratitude. He wished he knew more people who were as down-to-earth and heartfelt as this family. It was almost as if he was learning to be more like that himself, simply by being around them.

But here he was, getting ahead of himself again. He barely knew these people; it wasn’t as if they were going to be in-laws. For one thing, Hannibal was technically still married. Yet, he was pacing the hospital halls right now as if _Will_ was his spouse, so nervous about his state of health that he almost wanted to bite his nails, which he had never done in his life. 

“Oh, there you are, Mr. Lecter,” said the nurse who had returned to check on Will, then reemerged to update the family and friend. “As I told his Dad, you’re all welcome to pop in and say a quick, quiet hello to Will. He’s awake, but very weak. We’re going to have him get an MRI in the morning.”

“An MRI?” Hannibal repeated, worried.

“It’s totally standard, don’t worry too much,” the nurse, Jennifer, a young blonde woman in pink scrubs, said as she noticed his agitation. “We have to rule out some more serious ailments, but that’s probably all we’ll be doing, okay?”

Hannibal nodded, trying to restore his nerves. 

“So, how long have you two been dating?” Jennifer inquired in a light, friendly way as they walked back to Will’s room. “Also, aren’t you from that tv show with the werewolves?”

“It’s vampires, actually,” said Hannibal with a short laugh. “And Will and I are just friends.”

It gave him a little thrill that others around them might assume they were dating, and again he tried to press the brakes hard on his overactive, presumptuous heart. He'd been so thoroughly distracted by Will since that afternoon, thoughts of sadness over his divorce and missing Bedelia had been strangely smothered.

***

After the quick and quiet hello, Will had squeezed Hannibal’s hand weakly, resting with a sleepy smile. Hannibal sat by his bed, knowing the nurse would be back to politely kick him out any minute now.

“My hero,” Will said wanly. He looked so small in his hospital gown, hooked up to an IV, barely able to keep his eyes open. All of a sudden, Hannibal felt incredibly protective, very nearly possessive. “It’s okay, though, you should go home, Hannibal. You don’t know me.”

Hannibal wanted to frown at the way Will spoke, as if he thought he needed to give Hannibal permission to leave, assuming he was wasting the actor’s time with his tiresome ailment. Instead, Hannibal smiled gently and rubbed his thumb over Will’s knuckles. 

“I think we’re getting to be friends. What could bond two people faster than diner dancing and an unexpected trip to the hospital?” 

Will laughed, the sound coming out tired but sincere. “How many missed calls and texts do you have from your agent by now?”

Hannibal took out his phone and turned it on, discovering the number, which was actually lower than he had expected: “Fifteen texts, four calls. I’m expected to be at home tonight for an exciting evening of Pilates and writing a divorce announcement Tweet.” He whispered, “Not every exciting.”

“Oh, that’s a drag,” Will sighed, still caring about Hannibal’s troubles even now, in his own sickened condition. “Good luck with the tweet composition. I’m here via phone if you need a ghost-writer.”

“I’m expecting it to be a tug-of-war between my agent, Jack, and Bedelia’s publicist.” Hannibal made himself let go of Will’s clammy hand as he stood to go. Jennifer was hovering in the doorframe, looking on the verge of instructing him to depart. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Sure,” Will yawned, still beautiful with a sheen of sweat on his face and his features drained. “Anytime. Goodnight, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiled at him, entranced although Will had already started to fall asleep again, his long dark lashes slowly drooping, his pretty hand with those long, perfectly shaped fingers spread absently over his chest. “Goodnight, Will.”

***

The next afternoon, Will was blind-sided and completely mortified when Frederick came into his hospital room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He greeted angrily, making himself sit up in bed as best he could (he still felt like he’d run several marathons barefoot, and that it was simultaneously freezing cold and burning hot in the room).

“That’s an interesting way to greet your former spouse, Will.” Frederick clucked disapprovingly, because really when was he ever not judging? And he still came right on in, on nothing more than his own invitation.

Frederick was as handsome and smooth as ever, and Will couldn’t help noticing that he’d recently shaved his beard (he looked better with it; it sort of humanized him a little). He wore a lavender shirt and a striped tie in various shades of purple under his lab coat; the outfit was lighter in color than he ever normally wore, right down to the tan trousers, from which Will inferred it had been a gift from Frederick’s latest lover.

Will glared at his ex-husband’s obnoxious, know-it-all expression, then down at the clipboard in Frederick’s hands. “I’m not all that interested in your opinions as to whether my greetings are interesting,” he snipped wryly. “Please tell me you haven’t pulled rank and lied that we’re still married just to get your grubby hands on my MRI results, then come here and pretend to comfort me while we go over the information together?”

Frederick sighed, “Oh, Will, Will, Will. I was terribly worried when someone told me you were here, ill, in the very same hospital where I serve as chief of staff.”

Never was Frederick going to let a day go by without finding some way to brag about that recent promotion.

“Really, why do you insist on assigning these nefarious motives to my romantic overtures?”

“Romantic?” Will groaned. “It’s not romantic to visit your ex, _uninvited_ , in the hospital after invading his privacy by looking at his lab results without permission. And since we’re on the subject, I assign the worst and sleaziest motives to your behavior based on past precedent. Nice _suit._ New fling?”

“I’ve been trying to win _you_ back for months, sweetie.” Frederick had the nerve to sit down in the chair next to Will, where _Hannibal_ had sat with such soft and caring concern the evening before. Unless Will had conjured that vision in one of his admittedly outlandish fever dreams, that is.

“Why would I be pursuing anyone else when it's you I want?” Frederick added, everything in his expression exactly conveying the most artificial, cloying, repulsive pretense of lingering love for Will.

“What would you do if you actually got me back?” Will scowled and Frederick kept looking at him as if there should be a glossy hospital staff guide headshot of Dr. Frederick Chilton in the dictionary next to “Innocent.” 

“Hmm?” Will demanded, “Would you have less frequent ‘business trips’ this time? Because God knows, although I lied to myself about it for long enough, almost as often as you lied to me about it -- no doctor goes out of town that often for ‘medical conferences.’”

“I’ve apologized for my infidelities countless times, darling,” Frederick sighed, “I wonder what it would take for me to regain entry in your cold, ever-suspicious heart.”

“ _I’m_ cold-hearted?” Will’s eyes flashed. “You conniving, underhanded, despicable son of a--”

A quiet knock at the door interrupted them as Frederick laid a disbelieving hand on his heart and Will glowered at him, bristling with anger.

“Pardon me, am I interrupting?” Hannibal asked, standing in the doorway of Will’s room with an elegant bouquet of blue roses and baby’s breath. 

Will couldn’t help it; his stormy expression broke into an open-hearted smile. He hadn’t dreamed it after all, Hannibal’s worried eyes and kind smile by his hospital bed, their fast friendship and the wonderful ache it left in his heart, which now skipped a beat, almost forgetting Frederick had ever existed.

“No, you’re not interrupting anything at all,” Will said, and Hannibal gave a brief slightly confused glance to the smug doctor sitting beside him. “Oh. This is my ex-husband, Dr. Frederick Chilton. Frederick, this is Hannibal Lecter.”

Will could have absolutely sworn that within a few split seconds, the two men instantly despised each other. Frederick stood up and shook Hannibal’s hand, giving him the usual, slimy charm he reserved for important strangers (Will couldn’t understand how he himself had ever fallen for it). There was an obvious, if low-level sense of confrontation already, and it made Will blush, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“Hannibal...Lecter,” Frederick repeated thoughtfully. “You’re that actor,” he added with a fake-enthusiastic grin, “From that show Will’s such a huge fan of, _Vampire Court_?”

Hannibal took his hand back, looking down at it quickly as if considering wiping it off on his sage green polo shirt (along with the blue jeans and sneakers, it must be another outfit from the switched suitcase). Despite his unusually casual attire, once again Hannibal looked splendid, golden and bright now, without the previously run-down appearance of a hungover, freshly dumped, very sad man. The spring in his step and his confidence were back nearly in full force, but he was keeping himself in check right now, too. He might want to say any number of things in response, but he chose to meet Frederick’s condescending smirk with a friendly, if transparently resentful, smile in return.

“ _Blood Law_ ,” Hannibal corrected him.

Will found it incredibly hard to believe this _wasn’t_ a fever dream.

“Right, right. So is this one of those...famous actor visits a fan in hospital things? A charitable act?”

Will winced at Frederick’s atrocious manners, cloaked as they always were under his calm, authoritative, cultured disposition.

“No, it’s not a charitable act,” Hannibal responded, blinking slowly at Frederick’s surprised face. “Will is a co-worker and a friend.”

“Well, he certainly never said a word to me about knowing a celebrity, much less one he’s been following for years.” Frederick gave a light laugh and looked at Will. “Right, honey?”

Will’s cheeks flamed and he wanted to scream. How dare Frederick try to give Hannibal the impression they were still an item?

“That’s an intriguing observation,” Hannibal replied, breezy and indefatigably cool. If Will wasn’t out of his mind between illness and embarrassment at Frederick’s antics, he’d also be absolutely hypnotized by the way that polo shirt fell against Hannibal’s strong shoulders, chest and stomach, and the muscles in his arms again, _damn._

“Because I’ve heard all about you.” Hannibal smiled, as if he was discussing a pleasant weather forecast or what he was going to have for dinner that night. “And I wasn’t very impressed with what I heard.”

Will’s jaw dropped and Frederick’s smirk fell, replaced by an icy glare. 

“I suppose when your foremost accomplishment is playing a blood-sucking fiend on the CW, you probably have a distorted idea of what is to be considered ‘impressive,” Frederick almost snarled. 

“Frederick was just on his way out,” Will put in, feeling kind of floaty now as a result of Hannibal’s defensive behavior towards him and sassiness towards Frederick. “You can take the lab results with you, too. I’ve already been over them with my actual doctor.”

“You take care, Will,” Frederick answered curtly. “You know I’m always here anytime you need me.”

“You, always there for me? That would be a first,” Will shot back. “Bye now.”

“Dr. Chilton,” Hannibal said, his silky accent and the immediate dislike in his tone making Will feel about ready to swoon again. 

“Hannibal,” Frederick nodded. He disappeared, the useless folder tucked under his arm, and Will couldn’t remember another time when he’d ever seen Frederick brought down like that.

Hannibal handed Will the bouquet, which Will smiled at and admired with a heartfelt “Thank you.”

“I’m due on set three hours ago,” Hannibal admitted, making Will chuckle. “However, I couldn't help stopping by to see how you are faring.”

“You can’t hide from that barber forever, you know,” Will reminded him. “Just remember not to let him dye your hair, or you’ll have saved my life for nothing.”

“Oh,” Hannibal blushed a little, and Will was astounded at his own power. “I didn’t actually save your life.”

“I have something called encephalitis,” Will confided. “It’s not fatal -- well it could have been if I hadn’t come to the hospital when I did...apparently my brain is sort of on fire, and I need bedrest and lots of fluids to put the fire out.”

“I’m relieved it’s something easily cured.” Hannibal replied, “Although I’m sorry to see you were being hassled.”

“Never mind Frederick.” Will sighed. “He left me for one of his colleagues, then tried to come crawling back a few months later, and to this day he will not simply let go of the idea I’m gonna take him back. I mean, maybe if that affair had been an isolated incident but it…” He cleared his throat, shocked that he was sharing like this again. “It wasn’t.”

It was as if he wanted Hannibal to know the whole, painful truth of the break-up, because he wanted the actor’s protective side to flair up again, liked the way it made him feel when Hannibal seemed so annoyed with Frederick and determined to keep Will safe from his ex-husband’s machinations. He blushed again at his own selfish whimsy on the matter, but he also didn’t mind getting exactly what he wanted, the pleasure overriding his guilt for a few fleeting moments before the latter caught up with him.

Hannibal looked quietly infuriated. “You deserve better than being lied to and strung along in such a manner, even once, never mind on multiple occasions.” 

He glanced behind him at the door, almost as if he was tempted to go find Frederick and give him a piece of his mind; his hand twitched by his side, starting to form an automatic fist. Did he...have a temper? And did news of strangers behaving indecently in their marriages to random new acquaintances usually send him nearly into a rage?

Will was, by now, inappropriately turned on. He was grateful he could rely on the fact of his illness to excuse his shameless behavior...but was it really so shameless and greedy, his longing for Hannibal’s attention and protectiveness, or was it rooted in something deeper, the feeling that had stirred when they talked together yesterday, and when they danced? 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I told you all that -- I really did mean it when I said ‘never mind Frederick,’ and then I go off on some tangent...it’s not your problem,” Will apologized.

“You can talk to me about anything you’d like to. I’m flattered you think me worthy of your confidence,” Hannibal said warmly.

Will was going to melt. He was going to be a puddle on the floor. Hannibal was too wonderful, or so it seemed (when was anyone ever _this_ wonderful, for real?) and...Will needed to stop blathering onto the man and get himself together, for goodness sake. 

He didn’t deserve all this attention, not when ultimately he was sure to disappoint Hannibal. All they had to do was spend enough time together, and Hannibal would see all of Will’s shortcomings, his own quick temper, his grumpiness and how he got so overwhelmed by life, prone to anxiety and low self esteem...it was not appealing and Will knew it.

“Thanks for the flowers, they’re beautiful. And thanks for coming by, but...you should really get over to the set.”

Hannibal’s subtle shift in expression showed no surprise at Will’s abrupt near-request for him to leave. He was perhaps getting used to the way Will let him get just so close before pulling away again, unsure of himself and frightened by the strength of his responses to the actor.

“You’re right,” he chortled, “I wouldn’t want Alana to give up and recast me; I’m going to have to really commit myself from this point forward. My grace period is certainly at an end by now. Please, tell me you’re going to rest and follow all of your doctors’ orders so that you will be back on set soon enough, improving our previously woeful screenplay.”

There was something sort of...gently bossy in Hannibal’s tone that only increased Will’s longing for more of it, and to have Hannibal around all the time. It had the immediate effect of making Will relax.

“Yes,” he said easily, and he said almost nothing so easily, the words flowing naturally with his breath. “I promise, Hannibal.”

***

“So, then what?” Beverly asked Will a few nights later, when he was back home. They were getting ready to watch a movie, making popcorn and pouring wine in Will’s kitchen. 

Beverly mimed reeling a fish in as she tried to pull the information from her friend with a cheeky grin, and Will relented, although he decided it would be best to suddenly concentrate on the splotchy counter that needed cleaning from the pasta he’d made earlier for dinner.

“Well, so then he told Frederick, ‘I’ve heard all about you, and I wasn’t very impressed with what I heard’.” Will repeated the words in a decent impression of the actor’s husky tone with a shy smile, not shy for Bev but -- somehow, still, even outside his presence -- shy for Hannibal. 

He got out a Clorox wipe and lazily cleaned the countertop, almost drifting away back into Hannibal-fantasy land, a favorite destination of late.

“He said _what?_ ” Bev took the puffed-up bag of popcorn out of the microwave, bopping it between her hands to avoid getting singed. “Damn, really? So he just told Frederick off like that, a minute after meeting him!”

“Well, maybe if I hadn’t very uncharacteristically blabbed to him about my terrible past marriage,” Will fumbled to explain.

“Oh, so you finally felt comfortable enough to share your feelings with someone other than your dads or me, and now you’re guilting yourself about it?” Beverly shook her head. 

“I feel self-conscious about it,” Will admitted with a shrug. “I haven’t decided yet if I regret it.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure.” Beverly opened the popcorn bag and poured it into a big blue bowl. “This guy really likes you. Hannibal, I mean.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe?” He winced. “It all seems too crazy, and we barely know each other.”

“Will Graham!” Beverly said excitedly, “You’re crazy alright, crazy about Hannibal Lecter.”

“Shhh! We don't need Rory and Rose waking up; then we’ll have to watch a kids movie instead.”

“I mean, you had a date at your parents’ diner, which is so freaking domestic and sweet,” Beverly went on in a stage whisper as they carried their snacks and drinks to the living room.

“I didn’t go there for that reason, I was just trying to cheer him up, he was going through a hard time,” Will explained. He thought he sounded rather sensible, as if one drove movie star hunks around on a little tour of one’s life on any given afternoon.

“Excuses, excuses, don’t you think I had ulterior motives for choosing the Blue Slate for my second date with Brian? Sharing food at a special, favorite place is intimate, so deceptively innocent.”

Will laughed and shook his head as they settled in on the couch. “No, no, not deceptively; just plain old innocent, Bev. His wife just dumped him a few days ago; I pulled him out of a miserable stupor because I hated to see him end up on a bender — I mean, yes, I was being nice, but also, I do kind of depend on him for job security right now.” 

“Mmmhmm, so your motives were pure.” She sipped her wine looking suspicious.

“ _Yes._ I need Hannibal in good health to keep the movie on schedule, because without its male lead, they don’t have the budget to go ahead and film, they don’t have the time to go hire another actor of equal star power who may not be a personal friend of Alana’s willing to work for a lower rate, and--”

“Do you hear yourself?” Beverly laughed. “Cause I do. Sure, on the surface, I’m hearing, ‘I’m rational, and sensible, and yada-yada-yada’, but underneath, I can hear you screaming, ‘I danced with Hannibal Lecter and then fainted in his arms! The next day he brought me beautiful flowers and told off my ex-husband!’”

“Shhhh!” Will insisted, turning on the tv, squeezing the remote a little too tightly. Still, he wanted to tell Beverly everything; it was too much to keep all of this inside when he was so torn between excitement and shutting this crush down for good. “He sent me some ice cream in the hospital, too. It’s a little joke, because we didn’t get to have it together at the diner. Due to me, ahem, passing out and all.”

“See that?” Beverly reached for the popcorn. “Intimate.”

Will thought about it a lot, right down to Hannibal actually remembering which flavor of ice cream was his favorite. It seemed to Will that it was intimate alright, almost like a French Vanilla French Kiss.

And Will was a writer, adept at word association, so once he’d had that thought, how could he help also thinking, _but sex with Hannibal wouldn’t be vanilla._

Will wouldn’t want vanilla sex with Hannibal Lecter. Oh, no; he would want Hannibal to do very bad things to him. Will would want to hear how he’d sound and feel doing them, the pleasure he would derive from taking Will to all those naughty, dark places-- 

However.

Will shouldn’t want any sex with Hannibal Lecter for about a zillion reasons, not least of all because he’d written at great length on the subject of very non-vanilla trysts with Draven, king of the coven, and Hannibal himself must never ever know this because oh-my-god how completely mortifying to have written such things about the body -- for that matter the teeth and tongue -- of someone you now actually knew, and might even kind of be friends with! 

Plus, Hannibal was a celebrity who lived a high pressure lifestyle under media scrutiny, and that had to be stressful and bad to bring kids around; plus, if the actor had seemed to maybe be a tiny bit attracted to Will, it was just the fleeting rebound curiosity of the man newly unleashed back onto the dating world whether he was ready or not, and he wasn’t ready. If they slept together it would be an ill-advised, unprofessional mistake, and Will didn’t want that.

“It hadn’t even occurred to me,” He told Beverly primly, earning himself a throw pillow, tossed at his head in what was actually a fair complaint to the pathetic lie.

The two friends settled into the somewhat abused brown leather couch, which on a daily basis had enough goldfish crackers crammed between the cushions to feed an army. That problem had often caused Frederick to grumble out one of his tangents about the many annoyances of having to clean up after one’s children, and how they couldn’t keep things pristine around here. As if Will should have warned Frederick, prior to Rose and Rory’s respective conceptions via surrogate, that children made bigger and bigger messes as they aged, and perhaps if he had, they could have avoided the problem altogether and lived happily as a mutually faithful duo with a perfectly clean couch.

When he wasn’t reeling from a break-up, Hannibal was pretty damn smooth and elegant himself, but he was more than that, anything but shallow. His confidence and witticisms came from deep intelligence and a soulful personality; he genuinely enjoyed connecting with people he chose to get to know. Underneath the celebrity lifestyle, he had his emotional mess; he was human. Warm and touchable, while being married to Frederick was like trying to break through a mile-deep block of ice.

And Will wanted to be messy, human and alive with Hannibal, here on this couch, all over the rest of the house--

“Want to watch some _Blood Law_?” Bev proposed, holding a pillow in front of her face in a vain attempt to block the cascade of popcorn which Will pelted at her.

“I’m honestly not sure I can ever watch _Blood Law_ again, or at least I can’t with the way I’m feeling now. Let’s just...call it a friendship with a co-worker and move on with our evening, even though we both know I’m thinking all manner of more inappropriate things -- okay?” Will kept his eyes on the tv screen as he flicked through titles, and Beverly was well-accustomed to his evasive ways.

“Yup, sure. I’m here whenever you wanna talk about it. Now, is there anything new on Prime that got more than a one-star review?”

They were halfway through a fantastic Bollywood romcom musical romp when Will paused the gorgeously colorful song-and-dance number at an ill-fated wedding reception and asked, “Do you think I should delete the fic? _Scarlet daylight_ , I mean. Obviously.”

“What? No, of course not, Will. You’re so proud of that story; it’s beautiful. People love it; you can’t take it away from them.”

“I was proud of it,” He mused, then bit his lip. He picked up his phone and went to the _Blood Law_ Paralegal Archives, staring at the stats on the fic. “It’s so many kudos, I...I guess you’re right. It feels like an accomplishment.” Sighing, he pulled his finger back from the “Delete Work” option. “I can’t do it; I can’t even orphan it. And anyway, it wouldn’t change anything: I’d still have written it, and that will always be between Hannibal and me, this embarrassing fact I can’t get rid of.”

“You’re being awfully hard on yourself, honey, over a fan fiction.” Bev frowned, concerned. “Have you talked to Dr. Leslie about this?”

***

“And so Hannibal can never know,” Will confided to Dr. Leslie at his therapy appointment the following week. “I’ve completed the rewrite of the script, burning the candle on both ends up all damn night for seven days, so when I go home, while the kids are with Frederick I’m going to sleep. Then I’m due back on set for Monday and I’ve got to make sure this fanfic -- and this ridiculous...I guess it's an infatuation? -- stay under wraps.” 

“Will, you’re exhausted.” Dr. Leslie adjusted her chic red-framed glasses, speaking in her usual blend of validation and common sense. “I hear exhaustion, and I can’t help but wonder if you may feel differently once you’ve had a chance to rest. Then, maybe decide if you can can be comfortable as Hannibal’s friend, feeling that you’re keeping this secret from him.”

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Will dropped his face into his hands and sighed heavily. “It’s what it says about me that I even think it’s worth keeping a secret. Why would I feel the need to make some big confession to him about a silly story that doesn’t mean anything, unless it meant something to me? Obviously, if I wasn’t attracted to him, it wouldn’t matter, right? We could just laugh about it.”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Leslie said thoughtfully. 

Her office was a serene getaway from the pressures of reality, decorated in warm shades of sunny yellow. There were three big, comfy chairs, and plenty of those little rock gardens that Will kept meaning to invest in, just in case raking around a bunch of pretty stones really could bring inner peace. At this point, he’d be willing to try almost anything. 

Tracking the movement of Will’s eyes, Dr. Leslie added, “You have a tendency to fixate.”

“Oh, I’m fixated, alright!” Will laughed bitterly. “What if I don’t even really like him? We spent one day together, then he visited me in the hospital, twice, but -- still, we’ve barely texted since then. I was just a shoulder to cry on, surely, I mean…” He took a sip of water, swallowing too hard. “I probably just think I like him because I’m a fan, but that’s not the same as knowing someone.”

“You’re _getting_ to know him. That’s real. Whatever happens after that isn’t knowable yet, and it may be that uncertainty that’s got you so on edge. But...I didn’t mean you were fixated on Hannibal; I actually don’t think you are.” Dr. Leslie, while she was around Will’s own age, spoke with a reliable sagacity, as if from greater experience or maybe just all that education geared towards understanding the human mind. 

With her chic polka dot dress and wedge sandals, her bright red hair that was too crayola to be her natural shade, and the way she tended to take a few beats to consider her words before speaking, feeling out the delicacy of her patients’ feelings, Dr. Leslie was clearly mortal, but way more put-together than Will could ever be.

“I’m not?” Will blinked, perplexed.

“That’s for you to determine, but I don’t necessarily think so. You are fixated on this story, this fanfic, yet you’ve explained that it’s highly unlikely he would ever hear about it unless you told him yourself. So I can’t help but wonder if you’re focusing on this issue because you see it as a way to keep you from taking Hannibal seriously -- either as a prospective friend or a prospective lover. If this story is always going to be an insuperable boundary between you, then you can feel as much as you want for him, always having the excuse that you can’t tell him how you feel or what you want from the relationship.” 

“Ohhh…” Will sank back in the plush yellow chair. 

Dr. Leslie was probably right, but God...there wasn’t anything Will could do about it, was there? He couldn’t seem to control his impulse to place such immense importance on the fan fiction as a past misdeed and looming omen of future humiliation, slash the ruination of his association with the real Hannibal. If he needed to feel safe from falling for Hannibal, then convincing himself that the actor would be repulsed with him for writing such a thing was a great way to go. Sadly, he was just as quickly aware that the idea of allowing himself to keep the excuse intact was highly tempting.

Anything, if it would protect what was left of his heart from getting too involved with Hannibal.

“Damn,” Will admitted, shaking a finger at Dr. Leslie with a tremulous, self-conscious laugh. “You are good.”

***

“‘Not unless it’s peanut butter!’” Hannibal quoted on Monday morning, gesturing to Jack with his script as he recited yet another of the hilarious new lines of dialogue. “Admit it, that’s fantastic.”

Jack gave a low snort and furrowed his brow. “It’s a great script, hugely improved. But do you hear yourself, man? What happened? A week ago you couldn’t get out of bed and now you’re damn near _glowing_.”

“I thought you wanted me to glow,” said Hannibal wryly, turning to face Jack in the middle of the Winterfest set with its kissing booth and snowman building contest signs as his agent halted his aggressive stride and threw his hands up in defeat. 

“Would you prefer I went back to whiskey-soaked sulking at this particular juncture, as we’ve just started filming?” Hannibal asked, “Considering that Bella Davenport is my leading lady on this project, I’m surprised you are not over the moon I’ve regained composure. You know it takes her very little incentive to suggest a _party_ , filming schedule be damned. Aren’t you relieved that I’m not going to be susceptible to all her usual temptations?”

No one who had spent time with Bella in recent months was unfamiliar with her temptations, from the drink and drugs to the table-top dancing and impromptu skinny dipping. She had a remarkable ability to emerge unscathed from these same incidents that usually left her party companions burned out or worse. On her previous film, several of her fellow actors had been fired after a night of fun with Bella left them incapable of work the following day, whilst Bella carried on, seemingly without a care in the world.

“Oh, you’re susceptible to temptations alright, my friend.” Jack laughed derisively, then lightly bopped Hannibal atop his newly well-kempt head with the same script. “Just not Bella’s. Hey, stop looking around for that screenwriter Will Graham like you’re a drooling little puppy. A crutch is only going to make it hurt more when you hit the ground.”

Hannibal’s expression hardened. “Thank you for the generous supply of metaphors, Jack. However, I assure you I have no intention of ‘hitting the ground.’ There’s too much at stake. We’ve work to do.” He slid his sunglasses atop his head, showing the sharper focus in his eyes, the certainty. “I like the new script. I like Will. No further intentions, and no harm to come from it.”

“Right,” Jack mused, unconvinced, trying to stare Hannibal down unsuccessfully, given that they were the same height, and Hannibal wasn’t in the mood to admit he was wrong. Jack always seemed to despise it when Hannibal was in this mood. 

“Hey cowboy,” Bella sang out to Hannibal, prancing up to them. 

She wore her character Maggie’s yellow firefighter suit, her soft curly hair tucked into a loose ponytail beneath the helmet, and the outfit looked amazing on her curvaceous figure. Her exuberant brown eyes shone with daring, and her grin was impossible to resist smiling back to. “I’m ready to put out some fires!”

“Hello Bella,” Hannibal smiled, “The costume suits you.”

“Why thank you, kind sir. Wait a minute, now, you’ve been holding out on me,” she said a bit breathily, her eyes wandering from Hannibal to look Jack over. 

Jack, who saw celebrities every single day, still couldn’t help doing a slight double-take at Bella’s thousand kilowatt smile and the irresistible mischief blazing out from her aura. Although Hannibal had crossed paths with her several times over the last couple of years, to the extent they were casual friends, Jack had never met Bella, and he looked appropriately dazzled to an extent which Hannibal knew was unusual for his agent.

“Who are _you_ , handsome?” Bella’s eyes flicked over Jack’s imposingly strong physique and back up to his nervous expression. 

“Well, I’m,” Jack laughed awkwardly, “I mean…”

“C’mon, don’t hold out on me, who are you playing?” 

“Oh, I’m not an actor, I’m just Hannibal’s agent,” Jack explained hurriedly.

Hannibal shot him such an amused glance that he couldn’t blame Jack for the look of death he earned in reply. 

_Just Hannibal’ agent?_ Humility on the subject of his distinguished career in show business -- that was a new one for Jack.

“You’re an agent? Oh, baby, I need to fire my agent; I had no idea they made them like you! Listen, you wanna get a drink later?” Bella grinned up at him.

“Well, I’ve got a busy schedule tonight, I don’t know,” he trailed off. 

“He’d absolutely love to,” Hannibal put in archly.

“I mean, I’d love to,” Jack corrected himself in befuddlement. 

“Perfect, cutie! I’ll see you later!” She flounced off to the nearby wardrobe trailer, as usual leaving new chaos in her wake.

“‘Cutie?’” Jack repeated dubiously. “Listen, don’t accept dates for me, Hannibal; I can handle my own business.”

“Oh, you were handling that? I could tell you like her, Jack, it’s written all over your face. Why not take a chance? Prove to me how much you know about handling a potential love interest, since you’re so determined I can’t be friends with Will, or he’s my crutch as you said. Perhaps then I’ll take your advice.”

“Her name suits her perfectly," Jack sighed rather dreamily, wearing an expression which Hannibal had never seen gracing his features before. " _Bella..._.”

“I believe her given name is Phyllis,” Hannibal recalled.

“Phyllis?" Jack shook his head. "Oh, no, that doesn't fit her at all. She's beautiful...a true Bella.”

“She is a wonderful woman,” Hannibal grinned, “And I believe you are going to have a lot of fun with her, Jack.”

“I’m not going to have fun, I’m not _here_ to have fun, Hannibal!” Jack snapped out of his reverie, noticing that Hannibal had caught sight of Will approaching the set and immediately went over to him. “And neither are you!”

“Don’t worry so much, Jack,” Hannibal called back, turning around and extending his arms out, “Just breathe!”

***

“Hey!” Will beamed as Hannibal leaned down to sweep him into a brief but warm hug. The actor looked at Will as though just doing that gave him a boost, and Will was immediately flummoxed. Still, he managed to finish with a forced-haha little punch to his arm, “You look great!”

God, did Hannibal look great. His hair had been tamed, neatly cut and parted on the left, but it was still long enough that his trademark locks could fall down over his forehead. And no dye had sullied his natural color, which was the best part. Hannibal had emerged from his depressed chrysalis into full-on Lithuanian-import-turned-Hollywood-hunk mode, decked out in a flawless dove grey business suit with a pristine white shirt and paisley tie. 

Will might have been okay if it weren’t for the glasses Hannibal was wearing, which made him look like some kind of naughty, kinky boss from a fanfic he might write with a self-insert original character to be Hannibal’s very submissive secretary. Apropos of this, Will cleared his throat, a light sweat breaking out across his brow, on his back beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and atop his mouth right where he wanted Hannibal to lick him.

In short, Will was _not_ okay, and it didn’t help that Hannibal was staring at his mouth.

“I’m so very glad you’re back,” Hannibal enthused. “Your new rewrite is extraordinary, and we all absolutely love it.”

“Hannibal,” Will ventured, “What’s up with you? You're so upbeat, it's like there's liquid sunshine spilling from your pores right now, but I know what you’re going through with Bedelia. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Hannibal insisted, as if the words, or how pleased he was to see Will, could make it true.

“You’re in denial, my friend,” Will observed, “Just be careful.”

“I’m not in denial,” Hannibal smiled innocently. Poor, clueless baby. Will’s heart sank for him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s another phase of the recent break-up recovery process. Take it easy and one day at a time; it’ll work itself out.” Will ran one finger under the collar of his shirt to ease the oppressive heat of the day, not remotely immune to the added warmth of Hannibal’s eyes locked on the motion. 

Blushing, he added, “Hey, so did your agent just get a date with Bella Davenport?”

“Yes,” Hannibal chuckled, “I’ve always admired Bella’s joie de vivre. When she sees something she wants, she always simply asks for it, and inevitably soon receives. Do you think dating comes that easily to most people? I confess to being sadly out of practice.”

Will considered this. “I thought it was like that for my friend Beverly with her boyfriend Brian, but then I asked her and she said no, asking him out the first time was actually terrifying. But she said that if you want it, you have to be willing to take the plunge. It’s ice water you’re jumping into at first, but then after a while, if it’s right, the ice melts and you’re safe, warm...happy. I mean, didn’t you have to take a chance like that, at first, with Bedelia?”

Hannibal adjusted his glasses, a contemplative Clark Kent. “I assume that I must have, and at the time it must have been successful. Perhaps I’ve forgotten now how to hold my breath before jumping into that ice water.”

Will nodded, loving the feeling of standing side by side with Hannibal, almost like a couple, their arms so close to brushing together. “Probably helps if you close your eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a very free-spirited version of Bella we meet in this story...we'll hear more about why she's been so rambunctious later on.
> 
> We'll get Hannigram on another date in the next chapter and I'm excited for this one -- if I have the time, I'll do a bonus update before Tuesday 💙


	5. Chapter 5

Working at Baltimore Community College was a lot like working in your eccentric neighbor’s basement circa 1976. The building resembled an abandoned, post-apocalyptic chemical plant on the outside, while on the inside brown and orange were the prevailing shades, and corridors wound circularly towards rooms which were numbered out of sequence. Inside, one always felt a little out of place and time, which might help explain why the students often appeared somewhat out of depth as well. Or maybe that was just being an eighteen year old taking Freshman Comp. Will figured it was a toss-up.

If you were a student, being here at BCC was either the product of your parents’ insistence that you go to some college, any college, whether or not you particularly wanted to, or else a sensible decision on your part to get in the first couple of years of college education at a cheaper price before transferring the credits to a more expensive university.

If you were a teacher, you were here because Baltimore was a small city with so few colleges that you took what you could get, gladly, even if you were more than a little confused by the totally structureless curriculum, lack of faculty meetings and near-complete cluelessness as to who your department head even was at this point (they seemed to keep shifting by the semester like an ongoing game of musical chairs). 

As he entered the building late Monday morning, juggling his messenger bag, containing his laptop, and a second bag full of heavy textbooks and notebooks, Will waited several minutes with his back propping the door while two students ambled towards it seemingly in slow motion. Finally, he gave up, unwilling to devote his whole day to the endeavor. 

“It’s unlocked,” he called, since obviously two twenty-something women could most likely open a door for themselves if they absolutely had to.

He walked in, dragging his supplies towards the teacher’s lounge and silently cursing himself for not leaving some of these books in his cubby so he wouldn’t have to commute them to work with him. Yes, a cubby, like his kids had in pre and elementary school: there was no office space for adjuncts. His shoulder and back were already killing him on a regular basis because of how often Rose still wanted to be carried, and how hard it was to say no to that little face, especially when the little face was fire engine red and screaming. He had an old stab wound in his shoulder from a mugging years ago during his college time in New Orleans, and that definitely wasn’t helping with the soreness.

“Oh my god, I thought he was going to wait and hold the door for us,” one of the students laughed as they finally arrived inside. Both of them, students in Will’s 10:40 Intro to College Writing, giggled uproariously as Will sighed and rolled his eyes.

Seriously? When his students weren’t ignoring him or making inappropriate comments about his supposedly “hot” looks, they were openly mocking him. _Terrific, Professor Graham. Prestigious academic career, achieved_.

BCC was like a ghost town in many ways, but the reassuring saloon of the ghost town was the faculty coffee lounge, and Will was happy to have what friends he did there.

“I think it finally died,” Beverly reflected, staring down at the old, battered Mr. Coffee which always smelled about as much like vinegar as it did of java which was perpetually stale on arrival. 

“Nah, the old girl’s got life in her yet,” Brian insisted, leaning down to peer into the dissolute trickle which slowly tapered off, not even reaching the “one cup” mark. “Here.” He whacked the top of the coffee-maker and it sputtered to life again, spurting out more liquid.

“Is that…” Bev squinted, then shuddered. “Honey, I think that coffee’s green.”

“Tea it is,” Will sighed, opening the cabinet to look through the paltry supplies, Nescafe canisters that had been there for years, stained teaspoons and sugar packets which were most likely solid as rocks. 

He washed out the teapot in the sink, filled it and left it to heat on the stove, then plopped an English breakfast teabag into each of their well-worn mugs (Will’s: “Allow Me to Tell You How Ardently I Admire and Love You”, smattered with cameo profiles of Darcy and Elizabeth; Brian’s: “Smashing it with the Graphics”; Bev’s: “This is Not Paint Water.”). In the meantime, Brian and Beverly had settled in at the small table, where she was peeling an orange while he opened a pack of pop tarts.

“Hey, hey, hey, gang’s all here,” A smarmy voice piped up as Matthew Brown came striding in, looking amazing as usual in one of those handsome man-sweaters with the collar slightly popped. 

Given his expansive collection of such flattering sweaters, Will used to nurture the hope that when summer came, his handsome (naughty, trouble-making) co-worker wouldn’t be able to wear them anymore, but in defiance of pretty much every other form of technology in the building remaining on the fritz, the AC was blasting so frigidly that everyone dressed in layers.

Will looked away from Matthew’s pale blue eyes, so fascinating that they used to startle him, draw him in, but not today, not anymore, as he swished his hand around inside the fridge to make sure it was still cold and hadn’t shorted out again. The light blinked, uncertain as Will’s heart when Matthew was around, and he grabbed his yogurt, managing a weak smile in his fellow instructor’s direction.

“Hey, Matthew.”

“How are you, Will?” Matthew did a great job of tinging the question in just the right amount of hangdog dismay, the way he’d been acting since Will stopped going along with his flirtations. 

Matthew asked as if he genuinely wanted to know how Will was, but he understood that for some unforeseeable reason, Will no longer cared to know how he was, and this saddened him, while also making him slightly frustrated with Will but too polite to say so. And all of this would have carried more weight with Will, made him feel a little bad for his abrupt decision a few weeks back to finally stop the flirting, if it had not been for the shiny gold wedding ring on Matthew’s hand. As it was, Matthew was just being obnoxious in a way that confirmed Will had been right to stop the emotional affair. It had brought Will nothing but guilt and an ongoing, unfulfillable ache for a real relationship. The attention from Matthew had simply felt so good that in Will’s loneliness, it had once been too hard to resist, but he liked to think he had grown stronger now, or at least his morals had refortified themselves.

Will sometimes felt the urge to take Matthew by the shoulders and demand to know exactly what he wanted at this point, but then he had really nice shoulders, plus those wicked eyes, and he’d just give Will the same old “Let’s make out” smolder, and Will wasn’t planning to break his resistance now. After all, he’d managed to resist Matthew even in the aftermath of the divorce, when he was weak, needy and confused, hungry to be wanted and touched... 

_Like Hannibal is now...which is why I need to be careful with him, too._

“You want some tea, Matthew?” Beverly asked pointedly.

“Me? Oh, no, I’m good, I stopped and got a cinnamon chai latte over at that new cafe La Rousse. It’s _spectacular_! So, did you all hear about that movie that’s shooting at HarborPlace? I thought you all might be interested, what with Hannibal Lecter and all.”

“I think I did hear something about that,” Will mused as Beverly kicked him under the table and muffled a laugh. “And from what I heard, I think it’s really going to be pretty spectacular, too.”

Will glanced down at his phone when the screen lit up, only to almost drop it on the floor when he noticed the text from Hannibal: _“Drinks with the cast and crew tonight? We’re going to Splash.”_

All systems crashed simultaneously in Will’s brain and body, a rush of blood to the head like he’d never felt before. 

_A date! It’s a date, Hannibal Lecter is asking me on a date._

Will’s face turned red, mouth went dry, and his fingertips started to tingle. The small talk went on between the others around him, fading further away like distant chatter swept under far more sonorous waves, the ones plunging his heart into darkness where everything felt possible, but _no._

_It’s not a date. It’s drinks with friends and co-workers. It’s a chance to catch up on how filming is going, since I couldn’t be on set all day. It is polite and friendly and welcoming but in no way romantic._

Wordlessly, Will passed the phone to Beverly, whose dark eyes sparkled as she grinned, “You have to go. Go, Will! We’ll babysit tonight, right, Brian?”

“Sure,” Brian reasoned, “I can have Rory and Rose grade my summer semester mid-terms. They might be able to make more sense of them than I can.” 

Matthew looked between the three of them briefly, then must have decided not to show he cared by asking where Will was going tonight, and ignored him altogether by resuming the chitchat with Brian about the latest rumors surrounding a possible new _Star Wars_ movie.

“Well...okay, then. I could, I could go,” Will determined, totally calm and casual of course, just as the teapot whistled, loud and accusatory, calling him out on the fact that he wanted it to be a date, dammit. 

He shut off the stove, then sent back a reply, completely dishonest in its coolness: _“Sure, sounds like fun! What time?”_

And what the hell was he going to _wear_?

***

Will knew he had made the right choice of outfit as soon as Hannibal saw him, and even though the screenwriter was immediately scooped into a hug by Alana and passed around, via a continual stream of introductions, like an hors d'oeuvres while the rest of the cast and crew all crowded around a second-floor VIP table, he never lost the feeling of Hannibal’s eyes on him.

Everything in Splash was purple, doused in the royal color by the spotlights roving over the club, where a DJ blasted remixes and a huge crowd danced on the floor below them. Hannibal was purple but no less devastatingly handsome in his white dress shirt (now ultraviolet) and black trousers. The collar of his shirt was open, revealing a tantalizing swath of tanned skin and a hint of chest hair, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows because it was hot in there, what with the crowds and the tequila. He was kind of overdressed, and it was adorkable.

Will had on a beige and white striped t-shirt of a thin, silky material under a grey jacket and black jeans. It was a huge relief to know Hannibal would never guess what a huge pile of rejected clothes he’d left on the floor of his bedroom, restless and nervous while trying to get ready earlier.

It was so loud that no one could really hear each other; they either shouted or mouthed their conversations, or just gave up and got distracted by the bass line snagging at their stomachs, rumbling under their feet. 

“You look wonderful!” Hannibal yelled to Will as he got closer, but unfortunately the music had cut out right then, as the DJ was switching to a new playlist. Hannibal turned a darker shade of purple and so did Will.

“Oh, dear” he winced, setting off those cute crinkles beside his eyes again.

“Thank you,” Will smiled. “So, where are Bella and Jack?”

“Oh, they’re down--” The music started up again and Hannibal switched from a normal tone back to shouting. _“They’re down there!”_

Bella was dancing on top of the bar, a bottle in each of her hands, while Jack watched her raptly. Then Bella put down the bottles and reached for Jack, and he tried to back away with a laugh. Somehow she cajoled him into getting up there with her, and then they were dirty dancing for all the club to see, lost in their own world.

“Wow, I had no idea Bella was so into partying,” Will said into Hannibal’s ear, figuring it was easier on his throat than shouting.

_Sure, Will. It’s not that you wanted to lean into his ear and tickle it with your voice, right?_

Hannibal looked at him, recovering from what looked like a split second’s worth of surprise at the intimate proximity, during which he decided to lean into it. 

“Yeah, Bella has been growing more and more fond of the ‘party lifestyle’ of late. I’m only confused she’s acting like this right in front of Alana. Looks like she’s getting more daring, but I hope she’s okay. I don’t want to tell anything too personal, but I’ve worried about Bella in the past, talked to her but she doesn’t listen.”

He spoke close to Will’s own ear, the heat of his breath caressing the younger man’s face. 

“Bella Davenport, America’s sweetheart, worrisome? I never would have guessed. She really does seem like a sweetheart, though.”

“She is,” Hannibal assured him as they watched Bella dancing up a storm, winding herself around Jack, her face alight with passion and jubilation. “She’s a terrific person, but she gets lost in it all sometimes, you know? When you are famous, it seems there is always someone trying, you see, to put drugs or whatever it is in your hands and then if you’ve developed a habit, it’s too hard to say no.”

“Jack’s not like that, is he? He sounds so rational, the way you describe him.” Will chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Were you hoping he would be a good influence on her?”

“Perhaps, and her for him as well. He’s always so uptight, and she never is.” He laughed. “I never knew I had a bit of a matchmaker in me. My sister Mischa would be proud. Her favorite American movie is _Hello Dolly_.”

“Get your asses down here and _dance_!” Bella called up to them into a microphone she’d swiped from the dj. Beside her, besotted and bewildered, Jack shrugged again.

“Here you go,” Hannibal smiled, bringing Will a tequila sunrise, which he took a liberal sip of before summoning the nerve to voice his next question.

“Are you going to dance?” He asked shyly.

They rested their elbows on the railing over the first floor where everyone was raving the night away. Hannibal kept his eyes from Will at first, just staring out into the throbbing purple criss-cross beams. 

“I will dance if you will,” Hannibal concluded at last, turning to Will with a dapper bow and extending his hand.

“Oh, you don’t want to dance with me,” Will laughed, suddenly chickening out at the reality of his fingers in the actor’s warm grip, the idea of moving with him to the music, his body getting that close. Memories of their first dance were altogether too tempting, and there was another problem, too: “In the diner with my parents is one thing, I can just be goofy and it doesn’t matter -- but in a club? I can’t do it. I’m an awful dancer.”

“Well, I beg to differ. And furthermore, I very much want to dance with you,” Hannibal insisted with a cheeky grin. “Are you coming?”

Luckily, Will knew it would be hard for those around them to see his awkward attempts to move to the techno beat; it was dark except for the light streams and smoke, and everyone was caught up in their own dancing. He laughed and shrugged when Hannibal came nearer. Will was about to say _“I did warn you my dancing would be bad!”_

But Will’s laughter died away as a slinky, midtempo number came on and Hannibal immediately came up behind him, gently drawing Will close so that the younger man’s back was against his front. This was like...the way cool people danced in clubs in movies, not something Will ever expected to do. It also felt extremely sexy and amazing, so that he was dizzy again, no excuse of illness this time, just Hannibal, warm and firm behind him, murmuring, “Is this alright?” so close to his ear that the loud music couldn’t block it out.

The couples around them were melded together in an orgy of languorous swaying, and the mood of decadent lust suddenly hung heavy in the air. When Will looked up, Hannibal’ eyes were serious, his smile tentative.

“Yeah,” Will agreed, placing a hand lazily around the actor’s neck. 

Will was spellbound, following Hannibal’s lead. The older man’s movements were deft and effortless, undulating to the music as if it ran through his veins. 

_Oh shit, he’s actually a really good dancer._

Butterflies swarmed in Will’s stomach as Hannibal rocked him back and forth with his arms across Will’s torso, his face nestled between Will’s neck and shoulder. The actor smelled of fresh soap, cedar and a certain something else that was just Hannibal, making Will melt closer into his body, wanting more friction, wanting Hannibal to hold him tighter.

Hannibal seemed content to guide Will, showing he wouldn’t accept Will’s claims of being a bad dancer, silently proving the younger man had potential, and by the time the song ended, rudely interrupted with another blaring techno number, they were looking into each other’s eyes, Will’s hand lightly clasping the back of Hannibal’s neck, Hannibal’s fingers firm on his hips. Will was hard and woozy with desire, and in so very far over his head that he couldn’t quite fathom what to do about it. 

The wildly euphoric new song pounded on while the other dancers appropriately changed their mood from intimate to raging, but Hannibal stayed there staring down at Will, one of his hands slowly roaming down Will’s side, and Will let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those dates that will last a few chapters 💙 Hope you enjoyed the extra update, I'll be back with more soon!


	6. Chapter 6

“So do you get along with your ex-husband at all?” Hannibal asked an hour later as they walked out of Splash and towards Will’s car, ambling in liquor-buzzed camaraderie.

Will laughed and lightly chewed his bent finger, a nervous habit which Hannibal had noticed before. 

“Not much for small talk, are ya?”

“Come on then, I want to know, not only as your friend but to know how to expect it to be with Bedelia.” He elbowed Will gently and the screenwriter sighed.

“Fine, fine,” Will laugh-groaned. “Well, we don’t get along and we’re not friendly. Frederick and I don’t interact unless I literally have no choice, and then we’re polite and we carry on as best we can for the kids’ sakes and...that’s about it. He did things when we were married that broke our friendship.”

Just then, a gaggle of fans approached, having somehow figured out which club the cast and crew of _Now That I Found You_ had rented out for the night. Hannibal cleared his throat and broke through his slightly tipsy state enough to smile for every selfie and sign whatever the fans thrust his way -- with the exception of one woman whose request for him to sign _her_ in an intimate place was a little too saucy to fulfill. A hot wave of possessiveness hit Will like a tidal storm, and he had to remind himself he was on a date with a celebrity, that this must happen to Hannibal every day. 

One thing was for sure: gone was the sullen, annoyed man from Comic Con who had no energy to deal with his fans. Hannibal was really back on form, charming and gracious, firm enough about ending the interaction that it was done easily, but still, entirely warm and engaging. Will couldn’t take his eyes off of the actor the whole time.

As for the many questions about the break-up which some of the more invasive fans tried to bring up, Hannibal expertly cut them off and changed the subject to something about themselves, predictably flattering them enough that they forgot to keep badgering him with _"that tweet was so vague, what went wrong with you and Bedelia? I thought you two were soulmates"--_

Now there was jealousy, seething through Will until he swallowed hard. He started to think, _how am I ever gonna get used to feeling like this about someone, as if I can’t stand for him to want anyone else?_ But then he remembered that Hannibal was only in Baltimore for one film, and when it was over he’d be gone again, back to Vancouver and his fancy lifestyle, Will just a vague memory, of course. How could this be anything more? There was nothing to "get used to.”

“Who’s this then, Hannibal?” a fan inevitably asked, pointing at Will. She flipped her long brunette braid over the shoulder of her denim jacket, then voiced one of the only lessons which the freshmen in his English 101 ever seemed to learn, much to his chagrin and against his best efforts to apprise them of how to write a paper: “He’s _cute._ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” said her male companion, also of college age and wearing a _Blood Law_ t-shirt with fashionably vintage glasses. “So, is this a date?”

“Oh, no it isn’t,” Hannibal replied with his rumbling laugh, ever trustworthy and endearing. “This is my colleague, Will Graham. He’s the screenwriter on my current film.”

Mortified at the attention, Will gave a weak wave in the fans’ general direction before trying to fade into the brick wall behind him.

When Hannibal finally escaped his adoring followers, Will asked, “Guess they were never going to be satisfied with such a cut and dry divorce announcement tweet, huh?”

“Yes, well, believe it or not, it took hours and more sake than I can tell you, simply for the negotiations to arrive at--” Hannibal adopted an even deeper tone of voice than usual, like a narrator: “‘Bedelia and I have mindfully decided to separate as a couple. We are still a family and will always be loving parents to Abigail. We will not be commenting any further on the subject, and ask that you please respect our privacy.’”

“It’s sort of bland, emotionless...but at least it gets the job done?” Will suggested.

“Yes, I think what bothers me is that...it’s very strange to have such a tumultuous event in my life end on such a dull pronouncement, a whimper, not a bang, and after all that we went through…” 

Hannibal shook his head, disbelief returning to him, almost enough to pull him back into sadness and away from the newness of being there with Will. He shook himself out of it, but again Will knew this was the “denial” phase, sure to catch up with poor Hannibal eventually. A divorce wasn’t something you got over in a matter of weeks...it was an extinction level catastrophe of the heart, and if you survived, it was into the post-apocalyptic phase of your new life. Maybe there was still life out there, but it would never be the same, and neither would you.

“When you think about the guy in that tweet, it kind of sounds like you could trust Bedelia again someday, huh?” Will asked thoughtfully.

“Perhaps I don’t know the man from the tweet, or who I’m going to be from now on. But I know I’m glad we came out tonight,” Hannibal smiled.

 _Oh, boy._

Will didn’t know who was more tempted to fool themselves they weren’t flirting with disaster by getting closer -- was it Hannibal, hiding from his recent heartbreak, or Will, who was starved in pretty much every conceivable way -- for affection, touch, attention -- _and_ infatuated with his favorite actor. Even though he felt some future catastrophe looming, at this moment he wasn’t quite ready to wrench himself from the fantasy of the two of them together.

***

Hannibal gazed at Will, entranced with the way he seemed to stand out against the dark street of closed businesses like a luminous creature, too warm and lovely to be real, too perfect in all his fragility to reciprocate Hannibal’s own heady, mounting attraction.

Quietly, picking over the shards of his thoughts, he landed on the follow-up question, “So, you don’t trust Frederick?”

“Ha, no, I don’t trust him, or anyone else for that matter, I don’t trust a damn thing,” Will confessed as they walked along. “The ground beneath our feet is just...shifting sand. It’s some primordial lie, just there to convince us we mean something or ever could. What’s the point of trust?”

Hannibal paused his walking, and so Will did, too. And the actor liked that, loved it even, the way Will allowed him to lead on the dancefloor, melting into his guidance as if he couldn’t resist it. Perhaps Will sensed that Hannibal was unravelling and didn’t mind if the process encompassed him as well for a little while. It felt different, for Hannibal to spend time with someone he wanted whose instincts seemed to line up so precisely with his own. Even Will’s acerbic verbal jabs felt like blows he wanted Hannibal to catch to pull him closer.

The actor tucked his hands into his pockets and turned to face Will, his smile playful, although the way Will watched him with attentive curiosity had his heart skittering.

“Oh. You’re a fun drunk.” Hannibal raised his eyebrows at Will’s intense cynicism.

“I’m not drunk,” Will corrected him blithely.

They stood under the awning of an Italian restaurant, shrouded by shadows, leveling each other with playful smirks. If they got a little closer now, it was unlikely anyone would see it. The street was quiet now that most late-night club-goers had gone home, and there hadn’t been a trace of Freddie Lounds all night.

“Of course you are,” Hannibal reasoned, stepping a bit closer, “and I’ll prove it: kiss me.”

Will let loose another musical laugh, enough to get Hannibal drunker than the tequilas back at Splash or the whiskey he’d drowned in during the first days after the split. 

“I’m not kissing you, silly.” Will’s blue eyes darted around Hannibal like they drew a crayon outline, childishly running anywhere but his lips, tracing the lines of his figure half-enclosed in shadows.

Will placed one hand on Hannibal’s chest, pausing when he must have felt the harsh pounding of the older man’s heart. However, Will only teased him with one quick, pointed look at that. Then he gently pushed Hannibal a step back, very mischievously. In another life Hannibal might have had the nerve to yank Will close again and see if that’s what he wanted.

But in this life he did want to be a gentleman, and save _un_ gentlemanly conduct for a time he was sure Will wanted it. When it came to words, however, he was in the mood to be a little naughty.

“That’s Golden Globe nominated silly to you. And if you were drunk, you would definitely kiss me. Besides, do you normally disclose your existential crisis, without the benefit of drink?” 

“Do you seriously believe I want to kiss you?” 

Which wasn't a "no." Will smiled and pulled out his phone, checking on the kids most likely...trying to ease the overwhelming tension between them and the probability of an actual kiss occurring, _definitely._

“What is it?” 

“Oh, a text from my friend -- you remember Beverly, she says that she and her boyfriend Brian are falling asleep on the couch at my house and that I should...ahem, that I should stay out as long as I want to. It’s so late now, though, I should head home.” A weight in the decision, as if it wasn’t what Will really wanted.

How Hannibal longed to know what he could do to make Will just say what he really wanted, and even better, let Hannibal give it to him...at length, and with great attention to detail.

“Stay out with me a little longer,” Hannibal suggested, as casually as he could manage. “Will, you’re a single dad, don’t get too many nights to do as you please, I'm sure...and I’m not the absolute worst company, perhaps.”

Will snorted at the obvious and very confident statement. 

Hannibal laughed too as he continued, “I’m enjoying myself with you, so I don’t want it to end...if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Will shivered, and instinctively Hannibal knew it wasn’t the cool breeze off the nearby water, but nerves and fascination causing the tremor. Still, he took the jacket he’d held over his arm, which was much warmer than Will’s thin one, and placed it around Will’s shoulders.

“And if you don’t mind,” he said huskily as Will nodded.

“Thanks, um…” Will pressed his lips together to think. “Well, what would we do? It’s late, and I don’t really want to go to any more bars or clubs. Don’t you have an early call time tomorrow? I’m kind of surprised Alana was okay with everyone going out to party like this on a Monday night.”

“That’s showbusiness,” Hannibal winked. “And I do have an early call time, but…”

_But I don’t sleep so it doesn’t matter._

“But you don’t have to be up early, right? You can come by the set when you like to check in with Alana on how it’s all going, after your classes?”

“Well,” Will reasoned, “yeah, I mean, my first class isn’t until ten...and Frederick will take the kids to camp in the morning, so...huh. It’s funny, I usually just go right back home after a date, not that this is a date. Anyway, my dates are normally so abysmal that I go home to escape.” He giggled anxiously and rocked back on his heels.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hannibal lied, selfish enough to want Will’s other dates to pale in comparison to a night with him.

“You know what is really great though? Coming back home alone really late at night after an awful date, and watching a movie you’ve been waiting to see for a while, as a treat to yourself. And then the aloneness is okay because you’re savoring this movie, just…” Will sighed. “Slicking it over your wounds like a salve. You’re curled up in the dark, stuffing your face with Cheetos washed down with red wine, and your eyes are full of someone else’s dreams flickering across the screen. Suddenly you’re okay. You know it won’t last but you’re okay.”

Something about Will’s loneliness unlocked a deeper understanding of Hannibal’s own that tugged uncomfortably at his heartstrings, setting off an aching throb that felt strangely good.

“Let’s do it, then.” Hannibal grinned. “Come back home with me, and let’s watch a movie.”

“This wasn’t a date,” Will corrected, teasing again. “I mean, it was awful, but it wasn’t a date.”

“Why thank you so much. You know perfectly well it wasn’t awful. But I still want you to come with me. Let’s watch a movie. No strings, and I won’t try to seduce you. You, me, Cheetos, red wine, movie, that’s it. Clothing fully intact. We can stop for Cheetos on the way. Georgia told me I can raid the wine cellar anytime.”

“Georgia, as in _Georgia_ Georgia? You’re staying at _her_ place during filming?”

“Indeed, she’s a friend...quite a recent friend, actually, but incredibly generous. I can also call us a car; you may not be drunk enough to kiss me, but certainly too drunk to drive, and I can say the same for myself.” He flashed a gleeful smile because he could tell Will wanted to go with him, and couldn’t hide his own excitement. 

Will seemed to notice this, and it deepened his blush. “ _Maybe_ I’ll take you up on this plan. But what movie?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Can’t be anything with you in it.”

“Will. Come now, that’s not even fair.” He pouted.

“Ha!” Will relented, “ Okay, we’ll watch one of your movies, under the condition that it’s the absolute worst movie you’ve ever been in.”

***

“What the hell is this scene?” Will tossed a cheese puff at Hannibal’s head. “ _Now_ you’ve decided to start acting? You’re about to get your head chopped off. You sleepwalk through the whole movie and choose now to wake up?”

“Well, of course,” Hannibal said as smugly as possible, although tears were streaming down both of their faces from laughing. His ribs were aching in the best way, and he had to put the Cheeto back in the bowl because he was laughing too hard to chew another of the surprisingly addictive, over-processed orange snacks. “It’s the best scene in the entire movie. Watch this, now.”

They locked their eyes to the massive screen mounted on the wall of Georgia’s living room (or more accurately, one of seven living room / dens, all of which featured enormous cushy chairs and couches and a screen to take up one whole wall) and continued watching the final scene in the highly dubious “medieval fantasy epic” _Overlord_.

On screen, Hannibal’s character, the battle-weary (although no actual battles were shown in the supposed war saga, which spanned nearly three hours of indeterminate, admittedly lovely footage of Hannibal squinting out over open fields, parsing moral quandaries) cleric-turned-revolutionary Nieven Erren stepped onto the gallows at dawn, looked out at the dwindling crowd of half-interested villagers that served as the audience for his execution, seemed to instinctively feel the hulking presence of the ax-wielding executioner behind him, although he was too afraid to turn and look, and gulped.

“That is an excellent gulp.”

“I know,” Hannibal bragged lightly. "It’s as if I swallowed something very big and dry. Be honest with me now, it truly looks as if I’m about to be executed.”

“Fine, I believe your performance in this one scene. I only wish you could have executed the entire movie. Or give me two hours and forty minutes of my life back.”

Will flipped over onto his back, stretching his whole body across the couch, an L-shaped, apple-red monstrosity which allowed him to do so without his bare toes even brushing Hannibal’s thigh. Hannibal leaned his cheek in his palm and watched Will, his thoughtful eyes grazing the younger man’s body before traveling carefully back up to his face, as if he wanted to appreciate every nuance of the moment of soft repose.

Around them, enormous windows made it seem as if they were hanging among the stars in the pitch-black sky, alone in a velvety nocturnal canvas where anything was possible and consequences didn’t matter. Will stared back at him for a few seconds, startled by his complete lack of artifice. 

“Why are we doing this?” Will sat up straight and fixed his eyes on the credits rolling on the screen, so intimidated by Hannibal’s beautiful intensity that he needed a break from looking at him. “You have to get up in a few hours.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Hannibal reasoned, “I can take a nap when we break for lunch.”

“But then when will you eat?” Will asked him, immediately annoyed with himself for the concern in his voice, for already caring about Hannibal way too much. Wanting to _take_ care of him, even, in all kinds of ways.

“Well...” Hannibal chuckled quietly, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "I will eat lunch and then nap. Forgive me, it's only that...I’m not used to someone asking these questions.”

A pause, giving both of them time to consider what this said about his marriage. Enough time for Will to realize that he could relate to that, and it hurt. Identifying with Hannibal, connecting, wanting him...it hurt when it was all so impossible.

Time to say something to keep this casual, the way it should be for both of their sakes.

“Well, we’re friends now, right? So get used to it.” Will shut the tv off, stood and stretched out a hand to the actor, who followed him to the door between the living room and hall.

Will turned to him and said, “I’m trying to bring you to wherever in this ginormous labyrinth you sleep, Hannibal. Which way?”

Hannibal smiled sleepily and tugged Will to the right, leading him, still by hand, up a spiral staircase, glass steps that continued the illusion they were suspended in time, floating. Going up, up, up…

The crash was going to hurt, whenever Hannibal stopped caring about him, stopped wanting Will’s hand. He would recover from his split with Bedelia and then what use would a dull commoner like Will be, especially one pathetic enough to have publicly, if anonymously, fantasized about his character? Hell, if they hadn’t met in real life, or if they’d met and Hannibal been a little less amazing, he’d still be writing that fucking story. They’d reached the top of the stairs in silence by the time Will realized how grateful he was that Hannibal would never know about the fic. 

_God, Chapter 53 alone_ …

Fuck, Chapter 53. Hannibal stood in front of him and took his other hand, the actor’s big thumbs massaging over his skin, setting off cascades of helpless goosebumps. The older man looked like he’d been carved in marble by the gods, sleekly masculine, solid but too damn pretty for words. Will wanted to carry out the entire litany of smut from Chapter 53 with him, here and now, especially when Hannibal let out a husky sigh that sent a beautiful wave of arousal through Will’s whole body.

“I want to thank you for tonight,” Hannibal murmured, “and for the other day, for your friendship when I was really lost. Words don’t even seem enough.”

“Please, it’s been my pleasure, and you saved me right back. But...honestly, don’t see me as some benevolent sweetheart. Trust me, I know how good it feels right now to lean into that, to let it feel good to see me that way, but I’m not so great. You’d see that in time.”

A frown as Hannibal processed Will’s words like bits of jaded code. “What do you mean?”

“Oh. Well, I’m a little bit terrible in my own way.” Will shrugged, pulling his hands back with a painful effort.

Hannibal’s frown deepened. It was even...disapproving in a way Will found problematically sexy. “That’s not a very nice way to talk about yourself.”

“I guess not. But what does it matter? It’s honest, anyway. I’m just saying what other people have noticed.”

That thumb, rubbing over Hannibal’s lips again. More processing, then a decision: “But you don’t know that, not about everyone and in any case — it bothers me.”

“Why?”

“How could it not bother me, to see someone so extraordinary thinking so lowly of himself?” Hannibal gave him a gently complicated smile, hands slipped into trousers’ pockets because he couldn't put them anywhere else without shattering the delicate mirage of their friendship. "Don't try and argue with me about whether what I've said is true, Will. That's a losing battle."

Will smiled crookedly, fighting back tears, embarrassed by the impulse to let go and soak Hannibal’s shirt with his sadness. He nodded, and for a few moments they allowed silence to try and fail to ease the tense desire between them. Will knew he had to push onward, even if saying goodnight was the last thing he wanted. “So, where do you sleep? I’m putting you to bed, mister.”

“Over here.” Hannibal trudged, exhausted, to a half-open door. 

Inside, darkness and a very big bed. Will gulped, trying not to imagine how it would feel to be with him, Hannibal’s little spoon. “And there’s a guest room, just there across the way. Georgia has guests so often that the rooms are always kept fresh and ready.” 

Will realized that they had both simply assumed he would be crashing here tonight, like it was as foregone a conclusion as a middle school slumber party.

“Thank you, Hannibal. You’re a good friend, too.” Will swept a silvery-blonde lock of hair back from Hannibal’s brow as he leaned up to kiss the actor’s cheek. Hannibal’s skin was smooth and warm, his hair so soft, his spicy scent bewitching, and when Will pulled back, the older man’s eyes were closed for a moment.

A good friend. A strong temptation. _And all temporary, so hold it together, Will. Control your damn self._

Will’s heart was so far past control, it was a hideously cruel joke, but his thoughts were resolute.

“Goodnight, Will. Call me if you need anything,” Hannibal smiled again, so gently, and went into his room and shut the door. 

Inside his guest room, Will found a pale blue decor theme, and he had to wonder if Hannibal had picked this room on purpose. There was definite sugar daddy vibe in Hannibal’s twinkling amber eyes and naughty smile that Will would be completely swept up in if he let himself. Everything in the room was baby blue and creme, with a crystal-gold chandelier and a canopy bed with the most luscious, exquisite bedding and the perfect mattress, enough to make goldilocks stop her listless searching and evaporate into sweet slumber with an indulgent smile. 

Will’s shoes and phone were downstairs, but it didn’t seem to matter. He’d checked in again with Beverly and the kids were fine, sleeping peacefully after a fun night, all set for camp in the morning. On the hunt for something more comfortable to sleep in, Will found plenty of clean pajamas in the tall white dresser. The summer breeze wafting through the windows felt great, so he chose an oversized _Georgia!_ t-shirt in neon pink that left his legs naked to enjoy the fresh air.

He went into the baby blue bathroom and opened up the toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste which were laying on the shimmery silver counter by the sink. After a quick tooth-brushing and a splash of cold water to his burning cheeks which weirdly did not wake him from this very unlikely scenario, he climbed into bed. Although he was still worked up with confused attraction and worry, the bed was so incredibly comfortable and his body so tired that he fell asleep soon after, still smiling in spite of himself.

***

_I should have seen this coming._

Hannibal had gone to sleep happily as well, filled with anticipation about what might happen with Will tomorrow and the day after that, in a future filled with hope. But his subconscious dredged his recent heartbreak right back up to the surface, deluging him with depressing nightmares. He had shoved away his remaining sadness about the divorce so insistently, but the feelings had to come out somehow. With all his pride and confidence, it killed him to know he was still beholden to emotions he no longer wanted anything to do with, that he had to fight his way through this, rather than trying to edge around the battlefield and go on his merry way.

He woke around four, absolutely terrified, his heart pounding and tears gushing down his face. A dream about Bedelia, about being at a crowded party where they were meant to be there as a couple, yet he could never get close to her, could never touch her. She was always just out of reach, busy with other people, uninterested, cold. It felt so real, not only because he’d been having this same recurring dream about his soon-to-be ex-wife for years now, but also because of the vivid intensity with which the dream reminded him how it had felt to be married to her. Horrible. Alone. Why had he let it last so long, dragging him down to this pale, sickly sort of existence wherein the loss of what he’d never really had seemed to be tearing him apart from the inside?

So, this was what it felt like when the Denial phase was over.

Stumbling out of bed, Hannibal swiped the tears back impatiently, just enough so he could see his way in the shadows to the balcony. Air, air, he needed to breathe.

There was a chaise out on the balcony, but he ignored it, found that he much preferred the unforgiving floor, where he sat down, shirtless and already shivering. He hugged his knees to his chest and cried some more, big, ugly, childish sobs. 

His heart was breaking. He’d managed to trick himself into thinking it was already shattered, ruined the day of her phone call ending their marriage, but instead it was happening now, and he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he’d never be able to breathe again, that even oxygen was suffocating him.

In some distant way he understood this must be a panic attack, that he was still in shock from losing the relationship which had shaped his life for the past decade. But it was too hard to breathe, much less think, and he couldn’t seem to cope with the sudden overflow of anxiety.

He heard a door creaking open behind him, then cautious footsteps and an even more cautious voice, Will’s, hovering closer, at the opening of the room into the balcony: “Hey…”

Hannibal sniffled hard and looked over his tightly crossed arms where he’d clamped his knees with painful force to his bare, hollow chest, like this would help him to contain the bleeding inside him. Through bleary eyes he saw Will standing there, gorgeous and excruciatingly sexy in just a t-shirt, the shirt hanging off one perfect, smooth shoulder, tenderness and mercy etched all over his sweet face. It was much too much, an overstimulation; no one should be so beautiful when nearly everything else was unbearably ugly.

He squeezed his eyes shut and Will stepped back a bit.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go, I just--” A low scrape of Will’s nails against the doorframe, like he was angry with himself for this intrusion. “You cried out, I guess when you woke up, maybe a bad dream? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Please, don’t go,” Hannibal begged, rocking slightly, swallowing more sobs. 

Hannibal knew Will didn’t want to be what Jack had called him, a crutch. He knew Will wanted to keep some distance from him, even if the mutual attraction between them felt obvious. He knew it wasn’t what Will wanted, to give into it when Hannibal was a wreck, the furthest from a sure thing, and that Will wasn’t the type of man to go to for a rebound fling. But right now, he needed Will so badly that he gave into the selfish request with all that was left of his heart, just a muddied, stomped-on pulp of a thing, but it needed Will.

“Please,” he whispered, and then Will was there, crouching beside him, hesitant fingers pausing in the softest brush down his arms. 

“You’re freezing,” Will sighed, rubbing Hannibal's trembling arms. It wasn't cold out, still a pleasant summer night, but the nearby ocean breeze had definitely made it a bit too cool for lying outside in just a pair of pajama pants to be a viable option. 

“I’m glad. It feels good,” Hannibal shuddered. It felt just, that he should have to sit uncomfortably on a floor and shiver, as if this was what he deserved. What Bedelia had left him to, because she felt that he deserved it.

“No it doesn’t, don’t be ridiculous.” Will pulled him up, guided him to the bed inside, shut the balcony doors and sat beside him, their thighs pressed together, his arm around Hannibal’s shoulders, but it wasn’t enough. 

Hannibal turned to face Will and enveloped him in a hug, crushing the younger man’s body into his, scooping Will into his lap. Will went along easily, melted into his chest and clung to him, and Hannibal cried. Silently, Will passed over a handful of kleenex he’d grabbed from the box by the bed when he first went out to check on the actor. Hannibal took them in gratitude, and Will went back to hugging him. The screenwriter’s pretty but strong hands held onto Hannibal’s naked back, his chest pressed so close that Hannibal could feel the subtle friction of hardened nipples, and Will was twisted; it wasn’t a comfortable position for either of them. But he loved the weight of Will in his lap, the smell of peppermint in his precious, soft curly hair, oh. Will was like a prince, his angel, too perfect for words. Hannibal didn’t deserve this, but Will was merciful.

Will turned in Hannibal’s embrace, muttering that he needed to get more comfortable, laughing under his breath because of course this whole situation was absurd, inappropriate, doomed, delicious. The screenwriter straddled him, hugging him tighter and nestling his face into Hannibal’s neck, and there was Will’s cock, growing stiff and thick, pressing right next to the older man’s own aching, hard length, separated only by the thin cotton of Will’s underwear and Hannibal’s own pajama pants. He was hard for Will, and that hurt too, hurt as much as the rest of it, and Will moaned, sliding his face repeatedly over the bare skin at Hannibal’s neck. But Will didn’t kiss him, didn’t rock his hips, even when the need seemed to be consuming them both.

Hannibal laid Will down beneath him, careful not to sink all his weight into the younger man, and Will stayed there with his legs hitched up around the actor. Gazing up, Will wiped Hannibal's cheeks, then cupped his face. 

“I want to,” Will whispered. “I want to, but we can’t.”

Hannibal nodded and lay down beside Will so that they could just cuddle, Will’s head on Hannibal’s shoulder as the actor drew lazy circles on the younger man’s back. 

“There’s someone else, a co-star,” Hannibal announced. “That’s where it all started, the fight we had on the phone.” 

“She called me because she wanted to confess,” he continued. “She was attracted to this co-star, and she couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like if they...I had to stop her there, I couldn’t take it anymore. This had happened before, and I’d asked her so many times, ‘don’t tell me about it, I don’t want to know.’ But always, she insisted on honesty, to keep our bond strong. Will, I started to hate honesty so much. I guess I started to hate her too, God knows how long ago, but I held it in because I thought I loved her.”

He shifted his position a little, nosing at Will’s neck, and Will sank his fingers into Hannibal’s hair, stroking, soothing. 

“I got so angry, and she didn’t understand. Why should I be upset if she was only telling me, out of respect for our marriage and fidelity, about normal human impulses that were making her struggle, and I said something like, ‘why don’t you just go and do something about it, and then you won’t have to struggle with your fidelity anymore.’ Since it was such a burden and so was I, clearly. Deadweight. Buzzy Lithuanian import gone sour on near-miss awards show honors and syndicated prime-time soaps, and what good was I anymore? Maybe I was even an embarrassment.” 

He slung his arm over Will’s waist and dug his fingers slightly into the younger man’s hip, but Will didn’t protest, only laid a hand on his bicep and massaged him slowly.

“She said she was weary of my insensitivity and my unrealistic expectations and demands, and she’d had enough. She wanted out. Maybe to be with her co-star, maybe not, it didn’t matter; the important bit was, she was done trying to make me happy when everything she did just seemed to let me down.” Hannibal sighed. “I suppose she was right.”

“Hmm?” Will prompted.

“She did make me miserable. We needed to break up, it’s just...I don’t know. Why am I such a fool, why do I care? And Abigail is going to be--”

“Abigail is going to be just fine. You’re a wonderful, loving dad. You’ll figure it out, and both of her parents will always love and look after her. Abigail will be fine.”

The repetitious rhythm of Will’s words, the sincere affirmation in them calmed Hannibal enough to continue unburdening his heart.

“I feel like I’m ruining what is left of her childhood. Muddling her understanding of love before she’s old enough to know it isn’t always like this.” 

He knew Will felt an automatic instinct to correct him, say it was always like this, at least for dumb suckers like them, but Will repressed the urge and in that split second Hannibal loved him for it. That tiny surrender of cynicism, just for Hannibal, was like a glimpse into Will’s softest soul, the truth of Will portrayed in a kind lie.

“I worry a lot about my kids too, since the divorce, but they’re happy and healthy.” Will closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and that seemed like a good idea, so Hannibal did it, too. “You’re here, you’re alive and life goes on. I’ve got you, Hannibal.”

Hannibal nodded, letting the oxygen back in. Remembering how to breathe, remembering that he still could. Maybe he even deserved to. 

He didn’t feel himself falling asleep; he was awake one minute and holding Will, feeling that comforting touch in his hair and on his arm going gradually slack as Will started to drift into unconsciousness. In what seemed like the next moment, Hannibal was waking up, blinking at the blaring sunlight spilling in through the glass balcony doors, and Will was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess there actually is a movie called _Overlord,_ which I did not realize prior to writing this chapter 😂 
> 
> Coming up: More of our boys getting to know each other and navigating this complicated journey to love. And Hannibal gets to meet Will's kids!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter because I wanted to leave off in the most satisfying place (hopefully).

The next day was a disaster, and not because Will was hungover. He wasn’t; they’d only had a couple of drinks at Splash, and had barely sipped at the lovely Bordeaux they’d brought up from the impressive wine cellar. But he felt hungover anyway, the kind where you were still a little drunk from the night before but in a painful, vision-blurring, head-throbbing, throat-clutching sort of way, and it was all _Hannibal_.

The memory of Hannibal brushing against him, holding him with tantalizing ease on the dancefloor, the sound of his laughter when they watched that horrible movie, the feeling of their bodies reacting to each other as if they were made to join as one, and maybe worst of all, the wonderfully warm cling of the actor underneath Will for the three hours he’d spent wrapped in that embrace, fighting daybreak. Will made himself leave, gently, unable to face Hannibal awake, talking, responding to their nearness and what had passed between them. More so -- what had _almost_ happened, what would have happened if Will had been less afraid of new intimacy when it meant far too much to him and couldn’t possibly last. So even though it felt like severing some previously unfelt but vital artery, Will slid out from those warm, strong arms with just a quick glance at Hannibal’s peaceful, drained-looking features, so beautiful, and crept downstairs to call for the car.

Thank God Will had an appointment with Dr. Leslie that morning, or so he had thought, almost stumbling into the brightly soothing sunshiny hues of the therapist’s calming haven, but it wasn’t helping at all so far. 

“Talking about last night is actually making it seem worse. It’s like autopsying a body, only to have the evidence prove that I’m the killer. The murderer of my own damn common sense.”

Dr. Leslie sat back and placed her hands in a pyramid under her dimpled chin, her green eyes effortlessly analytical, following the same evidence to obvious conclusions. Despite this, she answered with her eternally kind patience, “How so?”

Will raked a hand through his hair, which was by now disheveled from the number of times he’d done that today. “I’m obsessing. But it’s just an infatuation, I mean you said it yourself, I fixate. Right now, he’s here and he’s very distracting, and he probably just seems desirable because he’s emotionally unavailable and I can’t ever tell him about that damn story, so there will always be that distance between us. It’s doomed, so I want him because I’m lonely and desperate and I don’t believe in stability anymore.” Will sucked his lower lip for a second, then confirmed it, nodding. “Yeah. I’m infatuated with Hannibal. Nothing more than that. So, I’ll get over it.”

Dr. Leslie raised her eyebrows just a tiny bit, then asked thoughtfully, “Are you sure?”

Will threw his head back and groaned, then set his eyes, sharp and accusatory, on his therapist. “Do you have to do that?”

***

“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with somebody while you’re still getting over somebody else?” Hannibal asked Jack as they walked into the building which had been set up as his accountant character Neil’s office.

Despite the trendy open-plan and red-brick scenester-industrial chic look of the place, Neil’s desk was organized true to character, files neatly stacked and not one pencil or paper clip out of place. Good; Hannibal needed some visual stimulation to shove him into the headspace of a control freak. He felt like he was probably anything and everything else these days, none of it good, but definitely _not_ in control.

Jack went to the window and gazed out at the scenic streets roped off with tourists and movie enthusiasts peering over the yellow tape, trying to get a glimpse of Hollywood magic.

“That’s a heavy question, man.”

“Are my ears deceiving me?” Hannibal asked, sliding on his glasses and sitting in Neil’s stiff chair behind the desk, a chair uncomfortable enough to make anyone feel a bit uptight. “No fast little quip to immediately defeat my ill-advised infatuation with stern remonstrance?”

“Huh?” Jack asked, looking almost as confused as Hannibal. “No, I’m fresh out of stern lectures today.”

“You are?” Hannibal looked at him, mildly aghast. “Should I be worried about you, Jack?”

“I’m fine.” Jack ran a hand over his head and sighed. “Look, for all I know, maybe you and this Will Graham are meant to be.” 

“Oh dear,” said Hannibal with a low chuckle, getting up and going to stand beside his friend. He lifted three fingers in front of Jack’s pensive profile. “Something is definitely the matter with you. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Get that out of my face. I’m just…” Jack sighed again, swatting off Hannibal’s hand, then tugging at his own collar, rolling his eyes in a surrender, under duress, to needing his client’s romantic advice after all. “It’s about Bella.”

They looked out the window together and saw Bella arriving on set looking like a benevolent party fairy. Her character Maggie’s costume for today was a white ribbed tank top with denim cut-off short shorts, and she tossed high-fives at crew members as she laughed, seemingly not a care in the world, then found Alana over by the building across the street. 

That was the spot where free-spirited, social crusader hippie Maggie was supposed to chain herself to the front of the very environmentalist charity organization homebase which was being purchased by Neil’s showboating wealthy client who wanted to get those do-gooders out so he could continue expanding his franchise of unsafe factory buildings on the fringes of their fictional town of Maybridge.

Even when Bella was essentially playing herself, all wildness and light, she brought such fierce complexity and soulfulness to her performance that she was already one of Hannibal’s favorite co-stars. 

“I don’t understand it.” Jack shook his head, then ducked it and pressed his lips together. “One night of ill-advised dancing and wandering downtown Baltimore with that woman and she’s all I can think about. She’s a force of nature, she’s fascinating and sexy -- she’s basically a genius, you know! I’m pretty sure she’s still high, by the way, which is not a lifestyle or an influence I approve or want anywhere near me, or my life -- I’ve got myself put together.”

“I know,” Hannibal acknowledged softly.

“I’ve got my life figured out and it’s orderly. I wanted to marry someone sensible, have my 2.5 kids and the picket fence and be safe and normal, but _Bella_.”

“Indeed.” The sentiment rang all too true to Hannibal’s understanding of the inconvenient whims of the heart, although he’d never had his affairs quite as perfectly ordered as his agent did.

“Bella. I guess no matter what lies we tell ourselves, on some level we’re all just moths, you know? Looking for the right flame. We all just wanna burn,” Jack mused.

Hannibal thought about the words while they just stood there and went on watching Bella as she talked exuberantly with Alana, looking in every way infinitely more free and comfortable with herself than either of them. 

He felt the phantom tracks of last night’s tears as if they’d left indentations in his cheeks because all he wanted to remember was the softly calloused, light pressure of Will’s fingers sweeping the tears away. 

All of a sudden, it struck him that he’d missed this, the excitement of blossoming romantic feelings, longing to see the object of them. After living in stasis for all that time with Bedelia, he had forgotten what it felt like to be that moth circling the flame, the unbearable anticipation and curiosity, the need. Whether or not he was going to get burned, he couldn’t stay away from Will when he felt like this, not unless Will wanted him to. 

Pulling out his phone, Hannibal tested the situation carefully, despite the completely _un_ careful feelings pressing deeper into him with the memory of Will's touch. He composed a text and sent it on instinct, not allowing himself to second-guess the decision.

_Hannibal: “Is everything alright? Missed you this morning. Thanks for last night. Hope your day is going well.”_

It was perfectly reasonable, he told himself. Except for the “missed you this morning.” If he’d let himself think about it a bit longer, he might not have sent that part, and he wasn’t sure yet if this would grow into a regret, another thorny vine to grip his over-hasty heart. 

The answer came back, terribly confusing, within a few minutes: 

_Will: “It’s fine, thanks. :)”_

Oh, no; it was the most bewildering of all emojis: not the grinning smiley face or the one with the huggy arms; not the monkey hiding its face or the blushing smiley or the wink, but the blandest expression of tepid approval imaginable, just a way to acknowledge someone else’s enthusiasm without giving any hint of its reciprocation. 

Well, perhaps Hannibal should let it go, at least for now. Will would most likely be on set later today, or at least tomorrow. So he could obviously wait and act like a famous, beyond-cool actor who knew how to play the quasi-dating game with appropriately icy skill.

Obviously.

***

“Daddy, what’s the difference between an add-end and a sum-count?” Rory asked, squinting down at a xeroxed homework worksheet.

There were two charts to choose from, but even after googling, Will couldn’t figure out which was supposed to be which. Goddamned common core math was going to kill him one of these days.

“You might just have to guess, sweetie,” Will suggested, and Rory shrugged, drawing lines from charts to terms in pencil atop his _Frozen_ -themed desk, which sat in the furniture-crowded living room next to a matching desk where Rose sat flipping through a fairy book.

“Rory, which one is your favorite?” Rose asked excitedly, pointing to a row of delicate pastel fairies splashed across one page.

A lively debate followed, and Will smiled at them, loving the way their glossy curls framed their soft cheeks, and their small, cute fingers flying from one fairy to the next before debating favorite _Avengers_ heroes.

Will stood from a low crouch by Rory’s desk and stretched his back, then grabbed his phone from the hope chest in front of the window facing the big, rustic yard and looked at Hannibal’s text from this afternoon for the zillionth time.

A fantasy snuck in through his pores unbidden, ignoring his irritated rationality trying to kill it on sight. Will had nurtured so many of these fantasies over the years, and they were insidious, torturous things which he resented, yet could never help caving to. 

He was happy here with the kids; well, almost completely happy, except that he still craved intimacy and adult companionship, fucking _romance_ , and hence the dumbass fantasy. It never ended; it just changed from one badly chosen hero to another. 

For a long time, the hero was Frederick, coming back to Will to fall to his knees, cling to Will’s stomach begging for forgiveness, swearing off infidelity forever, promising to be true if he could just have one more chance, then another, and another. Then Will got sick of that because the sight of Frederick became sickening. He couldn’t see the man he married, the one he used to be so sure loved him. Against his wishes, Will was forced to understand that Frederick wasn’t just a cheating bastard; he’d developed over time into a bit of a slimeball, too. Not sexy, just a painful regret. So these days, none of Will’s fantasies featured Frederick.

After the divorce, Will’s fantasy hero changed into Matthew Brown. He would envision Matthew showing up here at his house, maybe even in the middle of the night, and Will would be angry and confused when he answered the door, until he saw his co-worker’s handsome, penitent face and heard words of love and devotion. Matthew would confess that he hadn’t been happy in his marriage for years; he’d fallen for Will; he was leaving his wife, they could be a family, if Will would have him, forgive him for all that manipulative, shady flirtation, but… _no_. That fantasy sabotaged itself in guilty futility. When Will thought about the way Matthew actually behaved, it was so damn repulsive that despite the strong attraction he used to feel for his fellow professor, with the clever repartee and those fucking handsome man-sweaters, the idea of actually being with Matthew lost all appeal. 

Now Will found himself day-dreaming about Hannibal, and wasn’t that just _great_? He visualized the actor showing up with flowers and chocolates. There would probably be a long black limo outside to whisk Will away on some extravagant date, so Will factored a babysitter into the scenario, an easy enough tweak. Then Will could see Hannibal standing there on the doorstep looking more than perfect with a sheepish, adorable smile on his face, lighting up at the very sight of Will, oh, so much more than perfect. He looked like what no one else had really ever been, in spite of Will’s exhaustive efforts to make them into it. He looked _sincere_ , like he cared.

Will was embellishing the fantasy with the popping of a champagne bottle in the limo, the cool night air blowing Hannibal’s hair back from his face in slow motion while for some reason the instrumental love theme from _St. Elmo’s Fire_ played in the background, when Rose mentioned being hungry and Will realized it was nearly six o’clock.

“Sure, honey, I’m going to make dinner now,” Will smiled, literally shaking his head to clear the persistent dream away. Wandering into the kitchen, he flipped on a ‘90’s playlist on Spotify and started looking through potential dinner options in the fridge. 

Maybe he would just make this pack of chicken nuggets, he reasoned, humming under his breath to a Robyn song he vaguely remembered from college parties he’d hidden at the back of. _”Do you know what it takes to love me? Do you know what it takes to do me right?"_

Hmm, there was corn on the cob, too; he took that out and put it on the counter, singing along quietly, _"Do you know what it takes to love me, baby, baby?"_ He swayed his hips ever so slightly, getting into it as he reached for the juice boxes on the top shelf of the fridge.

A husky voice cleared in someone’s throat and Will paused in the middle of what he had believed was a solo performance, only to see Hannibal standing at the side door, which opened out from the kitchen. Since it was so nice out, Will had left it open for the summer breeze to come in through the screen, a decision he now struggled to regret at the same time his cheeks turned crimson and he froze in place with an apple juice box in each hand and the next lyric dying on his tongue.

“I’m not sure I have the answer to that question you just so melodically posed, but I really must again point out that you are an excellent dancer, Will.” Hannibal smiled at him, not making fun, but gently admiring, as if he found Will inexpressibly endearing.

Wait a minute. Will skipped like a record over the shock of being caught singing and dancing in the kitchen and arrived on shock at the fact that Hannibal was here. At his house, in the middle of fucking nowhere, a.k.a. Wolf Trap, Virginia. Frederick still whined about having to make the hour-long drive from Baltimore to Wolf Trap when he needed to pick up the kids, but Hannibal had clearly thought nothing of taking time out of his busy schedule to come here.

“Uh...I…” Will put the juice boxes down and approached the door. 

_Wait, what am I even wearing?_ He glanced down at himself -- standard Will Graham non-fashion statement of a thin, olive green henley with blue jeans and bare feet; it could be much worse. Thank goodness it wasn’t breakfast time; he might have been caught dancing in his boxers and that would be…

“Hannibal,” Will elaborated cleverly, recalling himself to the present moment and the actor’s expectant smile. 

Hannibal was elegant but approachable and warm in a nice blue button-down shirt neatly tucked into charcoal trousers and those summer loafers again. Now his whole outfit seemed to match his personality and style, and Will could instantly tell the actor had been shopping to make up for the lost luggage.

“Hello.” Hannibal’s eyes crinkled, shining out at him in bright cinnamon, a light flush in his cheeks to match Will’s own just making him even cuter.

Will forced his gaze to logical places, glancing over at the shiny black Bentley parked in his driveway as he momentarily realized that Hannibal only used his driver, Phil, on occasion, and was perfectly capable of navigating unfamiliar American roads. Will only wished he could be as comfortable in strange new territory.

“You’re here.” Will stared at Hannibal as those same tingles ran out over his skin like they had some kind of a right to. “What are you doing here?”

Hannibal held up a big brown paper take-out bag and grinned. “I asked your fathers what your favorite foods were, and for a recommendation of a diner in more suitable distance to your home. I hope you don’t mind, it’s only that…” He lowered the bag slightly, his smile shifting from excited to tentative. “I felt a little odd about last night and was hoping we could talk. Have you had dinner yet?”

How the fuck did Hannibal keep doing this? Will fantasized about him showing up on the front step -- which, of course, he’d thought of every other love interest from his pathetic life doing, but they never ever did, _of course_ , and here he was. _Here he was_ , breaking down Will’s fourth wall. The unreal realness of it was enough to make Will feel blissfully stripped of pretense, and nothing would have made him happier than to grab the bag and set it on the table, then jump right into the actor’s arms. 

“Hannibal, when was the last time you dated? Or made a new friend who didn’t work in the film industry?” Will smirked, not quite concealing his excitement, he assumed. 

“Well, you work in the film industry, too,” Hannibal corrected him.

“Adjacent, just answer the question.”

“Er, I don’t remember. And as for dating, I haven’t dated anyone since I met Bedelia, so approximately...eleven years?” 

“Mmhmm, see, people don’t just show up unannounced at each others’ front doors; it’s not something you do. It’s sort of not the contemporary etiquette?” Will was only teasing him, but his face fell slightly and Will wanted to kiss Hannibal so hard his head would spin.

“Ah, no, I’ve...I believe the expression is, I’ve weirded you out. I can go, I do apologize…”

“Shut up,” Will laughed, opening the screen door, then tugging his elbow. Mistake, mistake, mistake. Sirens went off in his head at the feeling of Hannibal’s warm, firm skin, setting off a ton of sultry flashbacks. “Get in here, I’m only kidding.”

“Daddy, who is it?” Rose asked, running into the kitchen and immediately freezing at the sight of the stranger. Rory followed suit and gave a gap-toothed grin. 

“It’s the calendar guy!” Rory enthused, and as Hannibal stepped inside and Will shut the door, the younger man was grateful for the chance to clamp his eyes shut and silently mouth a few swears. 

There was no getting around that one, not with the amusedly curious smile on Hannibal’s face. Oh, Will loved it when he was cheeky like that.

“It’s the, uh, the _Blood Law_ official calendar,” Will explained, taking the bag and setting it on the counter as casually as he could. 

“You’re May!” Rose chimed in, deciding to trust Hannibal. She usually hated meeting strangers and liked to regress into a toddler and hide behind Will’s legs, but after all, this was no stranger; it was the Calendar Guy, familiar from Daddy’s bedroom wall.

“Daddy left that page up still, even though it’s July now,” Rory explained with the elevated wisdom he enjoyed bestowing during social interactions. “Because he says ‘every month is Draven month'--”

“Heeheehee, I think we’ve heard enough about that,” Will interrupted, wishing he had a place to hide as his cheeks flamed and sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

“So, every month is Draven month, really?” Hannibal stood beside Will at the counter, helping to unpack the food and arrange it on plates, his movie star, larger-than-life vibe clashing with the ordinary beigeness of the small, unassuming kitchen.

Will wanted Hannibal to take him on the countertop, but this was not an appropriate juncture. “Ha, I just forgot to turn the pages over; I’ve been so busy....”

Hannibal kept watching Will with that special, enchanted smile which the screenwriter was almost fool enough to think was just for him. 

“I brought some tuna melts for you both,” he said to the kids, his eyes twinkling. “Grandpa told me they’re your favorite.”

“Yay!” Rory and Rose applauded in unison, looking in such times of matching moods almost like twins with their matching big blue eyes and dark curls. 

Soon the table was set and Will was staring down at his monte cristo sandwich as Hannibal calmly bit into his steak and cheese wrap, and what the hell was happening here?

“So why are you at our house, Calendar Guy?” Rory inquired, polite enough.

Will was grateful the kids were on good behavior today, not exactly a predictable result of unexpected company. Between Rose’s occasional tantrums and Rory’s frequently exhibited quick temper, Will had his share of stress from the sheer amount of noise and arguing in the house, something that tended to wear hard on his nerves as an introvert. 

“Rory and Rose,” he explained, “you know Daddy’s been working on a movie script -- well, it’s for a movie that Mr. Lecter here is starring in--”

“Please, call me Hannibal,” the actor grinned, taking a sip of the water Will had poured him, apologizing for the lack of beer or even lemonade or anything, jeez, he wasn’t anticipating guests, least of all primetime soap royalty. 

“And I love _your_ names,” Hannibal continued. "Rory and Rose, why do those names together sound a little familiar?”

“ _Doctor Who_!” Rory confided happily, “Daddy named us after characters from _Doctor Who_.”

"And a little nod to the alliteration in my dads' names," Will added.

“Aha, that explains it!" Hannibal said in realization. "I have daughter, she’s sixteen years old. Her name is Abigail, and she is a huge _Doctor Who_ fan.”

“Where is she?” Rose asked, nibbling at an apple slice. “Why didn’t you bring her to dinner?”

"She’s in London right now with her mom. And she’ll be visiting me in a few weeks.” Hannibal talked to the children just as if he was conversing with another grown-up, never falling into the annoyingly over-loud or dumbed-down speech which plenty of adults used with kids.

"Cool," Rory said. “You're handsome,” Rose noted, popping a pickle chip into her mouth. 

“Why, thank you,” Hannibal smiled serenely. 

“He’s alright,” Rory shrugged between sips of water from his Jurassic Park cup.

“Hannibal isn’t as handsome as Spenc-awhr,” Rose put in critically. 

Spencer was Rose’s best friend from Pre-K-4, and Rose was already planning their wedding. 

“I am certain that I’m not; Spencer sounds devastatingly attractive.” Hannibal winked at Will, whose insides turned to jelly.

“I love your hair,” Rose resumed, climbing on her knees from her own chair to the empty extra one right next to Hannibal. 

Rose reached up and touched Hannibal’s hair, and Will was about to tell her to ask first, but the actor shot him a smile that it was okay.

“I’m going to be a hair-doer someday and have my own salon,” Rose confided to Hannibal very seriously, her cherubic features adding adorable flourish to this childish ambition. 

“It’s going to be called La Salon Rose Magnifique,” Rory explained, “I came up with the name, but Rose will manage the business. I’m a silent partner. Anyway, can we do your hair after dinner?”

“Why, Rory,” Hannibal agreed warmly, “It would be my honor.”

***

“I thought it was some kind of styling product,” Hannibal winced as Will examined the top of his head, where Rory had generously streaked some of his favorite glitter slime through the thickest part of the actor’s gorgeous hair.

Will giggled, lingering with his hands on the top of Hannibal’s head just for a few beats before stating, “We’ll have to wash it out. And I’ll have to use olive oil, too, but this is not the first time I’ve had to get slime out of someone’s hair, so it will be fine.”

“You would do that for me? Thank you, Will.” Hannibal smiled, excitement mingling with nervousness in his heart.

Hannibal couldn’t help but consider the sexy implications of the hair-washing procedure, the tactile nature of it and how it was certain to get both of their blood pumping. 

The kids were now in bed, despite their protests of wanting to stay up later and keep playing with Hannibal, who was _so_ tall and gave the best piggy-back rides. Will felt the older man’s eyes on him as he came back from the bathroom with the supplies. He wrapped a towel around Hannibal’s shoulders and murmured, “Here, have a seat.”

Well, he hadn’t exactly meant for that sultry tone to sneak into his voice, but there was no taking it back now.

Obediently, Hannibal sat in the chair which Will had dragged to the kitchen sink.

“Tip your head back,” Will instructed, keeping his tone steady and somehow audible over the raging tumult of his heart. 

“Thank you,” Hannibal sighed as Will began gently spraying his head with water that was the perfect amount of hot. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to apologize for dragging you into my troubles last night...I didn’t mean to wake you. And I shouldn’t have imposed on you like that.”

Will considered this speech as he drizzled the EVOO on Hannibal’s hair and dragged his fingers through it, carefully ridding his now dark locks of the sticky slime. “Do you really regret it?”

The screenwriter looked down at him, and Hannibal blinked, wet-lashed and vulnerable, up into Will’s gaze. 

“No, I don’t regret it,” Hannibal said thickly, and his voice was doing all sorts of things to Will… _God._ That velvety accent and the depth of his tone were too much, but then his hands came up to rest on Will’s hips and Will swallowed a moan.

Will kept himself busy, telling himself that if he stayed nonchalant, Hannibal might keep touching him and neither of them had to admit it was happening. Sensibly, he rinsed the olive oil from Hannibal’s hair and reached for the shampoo. But it was like Hannibal saw right through his attempts to pretend this was a platonic procedure.

Hannibal pressed his mouth to Will’s stomach when Will stretched up over him to massage the soap down to the base of his skull. The smell of ginger and lime from the shampoo drifted up, blending with the sensation of the older man’s warm, moist lips and his strong fingers clasping Will’s hips, his ragged sigh between kisses.

The hem of Will’s henley had risen up a little when he shifted forward, so that it was his bare stomach Hannibal kissed, nuzzling into his warmth, inhaling Will, and no one had ever _savored_ Will like this before.

Hot, wanton desire squeezed in his low belly, traveling quickly downward and sending Will’s heart speeding out of control. 

“Hannibal,” Will shivered, delving his fingers through the actor’s hair again and again, closing his eyes as Hannibal kissed his belly slowly, one of those big, wonderful hands drifting from Will’s hip to the small of his back, tracing over more of Will’s skin. Every detail of this attention had Will breathing more sharply, almost fully hard, lost to anything but the temptation to ask for more and more. 

“Wait,” he made himself blurt with immediate regret. He drew back and Hannibal let him go.

Hannibal’s naughty eyes gleamed like amber crystals, and his hair was dripping and messy. 

“I can’t keep apologizing if I’m not going to behave,” the actor said ruefully. “Sorry, Will, I got carried away.”

Will didn’t _want_ Hannibal to behave, which meant that he had to, but the only way Will could make himself do that was to think about how much it was going to hurt when he never saw Hannibal again someday, except on the tv screen. It was going to be a hundred times worse if they took this attraction further.

“You know I don’t want to say no to you, and that’s the really infuriating part,” Will managed to resume testily, leaning him back and rinsing his hair. Hannibal kept trying to squint up at him, confused by the abrupt change in Will’s mood. “You’re not ready to be with someone, and I don’t want a fling. I like you too much for that, okay? God, are you happy now? I said it.” 

Will tossed another towel to Hannibal, who rubbed at his hair, sheepish again.

“I like you, too, Will. A lot.”

“Right. Or you think you do. Your world just got turned upside down. Tell me, what is it exactly that you think you want from me?” Will crossed his arms.

 _Stay tough. It will stop you from kissing him when his lips look so soft and perfect, and he’s_ gazing...

“I don’t want things from you, I want things _with_ you,” Hannibal countered. And then he said the following, completely heartfelt and blunt: “I would really love to date you.”

 _I want to date you_ , as if they were in high school and he was asking Will to homecoming. Infuriating. Way too damn cute for Will to resist unless he tried even harder to rebuild the walls around his heart.

“I think you’re a wounded bird and I look like a nest,” Will sighed, twisting the cap back on the olive oil and clapping the lid down on the shampoo, feeling defeated.

“If I’m wounded, don’t you think that gives me the ability to notice that you’re wounded, too? You understand me. We are drawn to each other’s pain.”

“Oh, that sounds healthy,” Will said tartly. “God, I need a drink for this conversation.” He suddenly remembered the merlot from his birthday, still tucked into the back of the cupboard and pulled it out, then hesitated as he stood, regarding Hannibal with complicated patience.

“Is this bad to do with you?” Will frowned reflectively, feeling a twinge of guilt at his actions. “Should I have warned you not to drink last night; should I stop offering you drinks? I mean, the first couple times I met you, you were drinking your sorrows away…”

“It’s not your job to look after me, Will, but no, I’m not an alcoholic, and it’s fine. I’m not sure what I might have become if I hadn’t met you, though.” 

Will gave him a look, aghast, that made him put his hands up. “I apologize once again. Too much?”

“ _Way_ too much, Hannibal. Too fast, too soon. Come here,” Will led him into the living room and they sat down on the couch together with their wine glasses cradled in their hands.

“Alright,” Will suggested, “let’s say we date while you’re filming this movie. And we have a lot of fun, I’m sure; I probably fall in love with you, even. Our kids get attached to each other and the idea of us as a couple; it gets to feeling like a family. Then you leave for Vancouver, and what happens?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Hannibal admitted, sipping his wine and setting the glass aside on the coffee table. 

“Right, see? There’s your trouble.” Will tried to enjoy the victory, but it was sour. “You leap before you look, and that’s probably going to leave us both more wounded than before. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can take much more romantic disappointment. I’d rather miss out on the romance to save myself the pain.”

“You’re stubborn,” Hannibal pointed out; it would have seemed foolishly defensive of him if it wasn’t so blatantly true. 

“What?” Will set his glass down hastily, scarlet liquid swirling, and stood, his hands flying to his hips. 

So, if Will didn’t want to date Hannibal, it meant he was just stubbornly resisting his true wishes? Will _hated_ being told how he “really” felt by someone else, and whether or not it was true was completely beside the point.

“Incredibly so,” Hannibal clarified, standing to face him. “Don’t worry; I like it. I like everything about you.”

“That’s because you don’t know me very well,” Will snapped.

He couldn’t even believe this! As if Will’s so-called stubbornness was just some cute trait which Hannibal would tolerate until he tamed it. Maybe he’d had it right the first day: Hannibal really _was_ a smug bastard.

Will still had to make an effort not to stare at Hannibal, standing on that cheap paisley rug, the kind that just barely concealed the kids’ food stains with the overly busy pattern, standing in the room Will had strived to make cozy with country decor and carefully curated bookshelves. Hannibal was in Will’s world, uncomfortably so, just another symptom of the fact that the older man was under his skin.

“Perhaps some people don’t need a lifetime, or even a handful of months to know each other very well,” Hannibal posited, stepping closer, but not too close, his posture open, inviting but not presumptuous. 

He was really going to throw that flimsy ‘soulmate’ flavored nonsense at Will right now? Still, Hannibal was unfazed by his anger in a way that made him wonder what he could do to make the actor finally dislike him.

“Your marriage is over,” Will reminded him flatly. “The person you expected to spend the rest of your life with has rejected you, and that feels _horrible_. Being with me feels _good_. Do you think there’s some kind of a realistic solution there, or am I a bandaid you’re slapping over a gushing knife wound?”

That did it, finally. Will felt a grim satisfaction as the color drained from Hannibal’s face.

“Such an exceptional writer, Will,” Hannibal replied with a courtly little bow. “You’ve got me dead to rights. You certainly told _me_. I’m sorry to have wasted so much of your valuable time with my unwanted infatuation. Good evening.”

“ _Good evening_?” Will complained, almost chasing Hannibal as he strode for the door. “Are you Mr. Darcy now, what is this?”

“It’s what it looks like,” Hannibal answered without turning around again. “Thanks for having dinner with me.”

“Well, thank you for _bringing_ dinner!” Will quipped, about as loudly as he could without waking the children.

This wasn't going to work -- they were terrible at arguing because they liked each other too much! Worse still, the argument itself was _about_ liking each other too much.

He lingered in the doorway watching as Hannibal climbed back into his rented Bentley, then pulled out of the drive in an exasperated huff that -- to Will’s immense frustration -- only turned him on yet again.

***

“Well, perhaps I _am_ Mr. Darcy!” Hannibal complained the next evening as he continued obsessing over the encounter. “For all he knows.”

He took the box from the pizza delivery man, Peter, who stood at the front door of Georgia's house. Hannibal's driver, Phil, was excellent at creating distractions to get the paparazzi to disperse from Georgia's front gates as often as possible. To Phil, it was a favorite hobby, telling Freddie and the other tabloid photographers, "Hannibal's at Club Splash tonight, how much can I get for _that_ tip?" When really, Hannibal would be home all night and Phil got to pocket the corrupt "journalist's" pay-off. Hence, it was pleasantly peaceful tonight in fact, if not in Hannibal's scattered thoughts.

“I guess that’s possible,” Peter theorized congenially, rubbing his beard in thought. “But you were undeniably what we in any sort of polite society call a dick, I mean, no offense, but there it is. And so was Mr. Darcy at first, with that whole ‘she is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me.'”

Hannibal glanced from Peter’s contemplative expression to the pizza box, finding that the savory aromas of cheese and sausage were far less appealing now as his heart sank at the young man’s rather astute assessment. 

“But then he stepped up his game, so you gotta do that, too,” Peter resumed enthusiastically. “At this point, it sounds like you’re a serial monogamist and quite entitled from being famous. Can’t expect this Will guy to fall at your feet when you’re trying to win him over with those qualities. Oh, and that’ll be fifteen-ninety-nine.”

“Yes, indeed,” Hannibal sighed, giving Peter a twenty dollar tip as he realized he’d gone off on a rant without meaning to, and had become willing to wax angstily poetic about Will to anyone who would listen.

“It’s totally cool! I mean, your love life secrets are safe with me, Draven. Hey, though, would you be willing to Facetime my girlfriend? She’s a huge fan.” Peter held out his phone excitedly.

One eardrum-piercing Facetime call later, Hannibal was on his own again, sulking into the kitchen with his forbidden pizza and reading a text from his personal trainer/nutritionist. Jimmy was a kind soul, but had somehow managed to make it to his forties without realizing that using CAPs looked like yelling.

_“ARE YOU EATING THE QUINOA I LEFT YOU?”_

It was frankly absurd that Jimmy had been concerned enough about the way Hannibal had been uncharacteristically careless with his dining plans, that he had left a meal in the refrigerator in case his client forgot to order groceries and make himself a decent dinner yet again. If he was so adrift in life that he’d been neglecting his favorite hobby, cooking, wasn’t Hannibal far too muddled up in confused emotion to be dating anyone? Perhaps Will was right about that, too. After all, the only reason he had sensibly gone clothes shopping was in anticipation of seeing Will. Another formerly cherished past time, relegated to an afterthought by his...was this a midlife crisis?

Hannibal took a selfie with a spoonful of spinach-laced quinoa and a thumbs up, then sent it off and slid his phone away, turning to the pizza, but all sensation of hunger had indeed fled.

 _Damn._ He wasn’t upset because Will rejected him, or even because he’d done so after Hannibal made a total fool of himself suggesting that they essentially begin a relationship. What truly rankled his ego and left him disappointed with himself was that Peter was entirely right: he’d been, well...a dick. A desperate-sounding clinger who was ruining a new, fragile, very precious friendship because he apparently couldn’t control his attraction to said friend. He felt less Mr. Darcy and sadly more caveman, upon reflection.

Hannibal closed the lid on the pizza and reached for the quinoa. After a few thoughtful bites of the punishingly wholesome meal, he grabbed his phone and dialed Will, his heart pounding. He was lucky Will hadn’t blocked him. 

Will might be thinking the same thing, because when he picked up the phone all Hannibal could hear was breathing, probably second-guessing why he _did_ pick up.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal blurted, running his hand over his face with a groan. “I’m so sorry, Will. I have no excuse; my behavior was completely appalling, and you deserve nothing but the very best treatment.”

“I agree,” Will answered crisply. “Continue.”

“Uhhh…” Good lord. Since when did Hannibal ever say “uhh” and “umm”? Will had an unprecedented effect on him, sending his world spinning off its axis so fast, with such a pleasurable rush of feeling, such a pained new set of hopes that Hannibal’s excellent English vocabulary tended to stall.

“Tell me what I can do to save our friendship,” he managed at last. “It truly means the world to me and I don’t want to lose--” _You_. “It.”

“Go back in time and unmake _Overlord_.” A laugh was clearly smothered in Will’s voice. Hannibal’s heart leapt -- he was saved!

“I bet you secretly stan _Overlord_ ,” Hannibal countered, taking a sip of his beer and heading out to the lower balcony, breathing in the summer air and wishing Will was still there, even just for the simple privilege of his company, nothing more. “You’re the anonymous admin of the _Overlord_ fan group on Facebook, begging for a sequel; just admit it, I see right through you.”

“I stan watching you make an idiot out of yourself, or hearing it,” Will chortled. Then he called out to someone else on his end, “Honey, just put your pj’s on, I’ll be there in a sec.” To Hannibal, he added, “I gotta go soon. It’s their bedtime.”

“Okay, then I want to use the remainder of this phone call to repeat that I’m exceptionally sorry.”

“Say it to me in all the languages you know.” There was a sexily expectant glimmer to Will’s voice now that made Hannibal bite his gum, right into his cheek, for a second.

“Pardon,” he began in his low, rumbling tone, injecting sincere regret into the words, “Es tut mir Leid. I’m sorry.” He saved Lithuanian for last, his voice trembling slightly: “aš atsiprašau, Will. I’ll always regret it.”

“Why?” Will asked, curiosity wrestling something more mysterious -- regret of his own? Desire, resentment, all of the above? 

Or was it possible Will didn’t actually want Hannibal to regret the kisses and the crazy discussion that followed?

“You’re special,” Hannibal said frankly. “I’d be lucky to have you in my life, and I trespassed on your trust. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, and...word-vomited all my inappropriate wishes at you.”

“Hannibal. Jesus Christ.” Will sucked in a breath. “Walk it back about a mile. I _wanted_ you to kiss me and you knew it. You were just moving too fast for me with all that relationship stuff, but...we were having an honest conversation and you opened up to me about how you felt and what you thought you wanted in that moment. That’s more than a lot of people are willing to do, to be vulnerable like that...part of me admires it, and is even kinda jealous that you can just _do_ that.”

“You just find me so charming when I’m making an idiot of myself that you’re being charitable now,” Hannibal laughed huskily, leaning his elbows over the railing. “Trust me, being honest looks like a lot more fun than it is.”

“Come to a dinner with me on Friday night,” Will said impulsively. 

He straightened up, as if Will could see him. “Forgive me, Will, but that sounds distinctly like...”

"A date," Will admitted, "I know, and I'm sorry too for being so confusing and confused...I don't know what to call dinner with you, except that I can't put a label on what we're doing and yet...I really need to see you again. Not just on set. It's complicated."

Hannibal smiled, "That's not complicated. Tell me more."

“There’s an adjunct faculty dinner on Friday night that I have to go to, at the awkwardly bizarre college where I teach,” Will elaborated, “It’s boring as hell, the chicken dinner is always bone dry, and there’s a terrible string quartet playing covers of contemporary pop hits. Be my plus one; inject a little entertainment into the ordeal for me. Make it up to me for the whole _‘You’re stubborn but don’t worry, I like that’_ thing.”

He cringed. “Ugh. Please do not remind me of my more notable quotes from last night. And yes, I would absolutely love to spend my Friday night at this wretched college event with you.” His heart had lifted so profoundly that his fingers shook slightly on the phone until he tightened his grip. Damn, it had been _so_ long since Hannibal had done this. He felt strangely brand new.

“Why do you sound like you’re still being honest?” Will asked, as if he thought the idea of Hannibal sacrificing an all-important “Friday night” to such an event couldn’t possibly inspire such enthusiasm.

“Because I am,” Hannibal admitted, wishing he could breathe the words against Will’s lips. He could almost smell him again on the air, mint, pine and longing, and it was intoxicating. 

“Goodnight, Hannibal,” said Will with an audible smile, then ended the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A night of terrible food, bad music and yet more dancing among Will's co-workers...and gahh I can't say anything else, spoilers sweetie!


	8. Chapter 8

Will tied his robe distractedly as he stepped, wet-haired and barefoot, from the bathroom late Friday afternoon. He’d just barely started to get ready for the night’s festivities when the doorbell rang. Peering through the front window as the kids ran into the room and bounced excitedly around hoping that Calendar Guy was back, Will saw a UPS delivery truck pulling away.

“Nah, it’s just a delivery -- _it’s not toys_ ,” he immediately added with a parent’s special kind of well-broken-in exhaustion on the subject.

“What is it, Daddy?” Rory asked, his interest still held, if a bit more precipitously, by the mystery of the long, flat box which Will brought inside and rested on his bed.

Rose immediately started to jump on the bed, so Will put the tv on for them and opened the box carefully, sliding one scissor blade through the thick tape holding it together. He didn’t know why he felt that what was inside must be delicate, or that this particular moment would be, whether it was instinct or if he was just sort of pleasantly on edge today in general. 

Inside was a glossy white box with the name of a clothing store he didn’t recognize scrolled in gold cursive on the cover. Intrigued, he lifted the lid and the layers of tissue inside to find a royal blue Burberry suit, ordered to his proportions and tailored in advance, according to the small card which the store had included.

The dark blue necktie, its fabric so silky it defied all Will’s previous concepts of the term, matched the shade of the suit, while the perfectly pressed shirt was a paler blue, matching the pocket square. Will Graham, in a designer, slim-fit suit that must have cost an arm and a leg, plus an actual _pocket square_? Yet there was no mistake; this was clearly meant for him.

Will held the jacket to his chest and glanced at himself in the mirror as if he barely dared, half-smothering a soft giggle. He bit his lip to prevent himself from exploding into a thrilled laugh of disbelief. He'd never have the nerve to spend this much on himself; the fabric was so unbelievably soft and smooth, like it was made out of air. There was a note as well, in a small, thick envelope with a card spread across in perfect handwriting, almost more calligraphy than cursive.

_I know blue is your happy colour, so I thought this might be just right for tonight. -H._

“Ooh, Daddy, that’s nice clothes,” Rose enthused around a slurp on her apple sauce pouch. 

“Are you gonna wear that tonight to the dinner with Auntie Bev and Uncle Brian?” Rory asked, dragging his azure gaze from the adventures of Peppa Pig on the tv screen.

“Hmm, maybe,” Will winked. He hung the suit on the closet door and stood there for a while staring at it, struggling to believe the way it made him feel pampered and _thought of_ and special. Desired.

Obviously, there had to be some other, _logical_ explanation for Hannibal doing this; he wanted to say ‘thank you’ again for the way Will comforted him during his break-up aftermath, or he still felt bad for trying to talk Will into a doomed rebound relationship, or he bought gorgeous designer suits for all the guys he just distantly sort of liked -- or he was a super-nice person who just liked to buy things for his friends, male, female, close friends or temporary ones, you know...et cetera. Yes, that was probably it, Will reasoned, stroking the suit jacket but stopping himself from actually _caressing_ it.

“It’s no big deal,” he told himself with a shrug, but then the doorbell rang with more packages containing the classiest pair of navy blue oxford shoes he’d ever seen, and...the crown.

***

“It’s not technically a crown,” Hannibal informed Will as they settled into the backseat of the usual sleek Bentley the actor travelled in, and Will continued the process of trying to get over the sight of him in that dark blue tux with an honest-to-God _bow tie_. 

“It’s more of a headband.” The actor ran a hand through his neatly combed-back hair and admitted, “I asked them at the shop if they had anything with crystals, rather like those vined headbands worn by grecian boys in myths. And what do you know, they did. I knew it wasn’t a formal enough event for an actual crown, because I googled the annual faculty dinner and found the information on your college’s website.” He shot Will a proud smile.

Will set aside the fact that they were still, both of them, completely overdressed for such a bland, low-key event. He liked it that they were dressed to the nines, far too much to complain; besides, he was more curious about the real elephant in the room...or the car, that is.

“But why would you even think of giving me a crown?” he asked, perplexed.

“Because…” Hannibal looked away from Will’s incisive gaze and straightened his own already perfect tie. “Because of a secret I have about you.”

“A secret you--” Will laughed, more baffled than ever, blushing because of the way Hannibal said it, with a sexy sort of “I-know-something-you-don’t” humor that seemed to suggest a far deeper intent or seriousness under the surface. “How can you have a secret about somebody else?”

“You are full of secrets, Will Graham,” he smiled. “It’s only to be expected that your friends might find out a few of them. I cannot tell you yet, but...perhaps someday, even later tonight? I find myself...”

“Self-conscious? Bashful?” Will suggested, naming qualities that normally defined himself, but could hardly be applied to the charismatic star beside him.

“Yes. And while I’m not accustomed to the sensation, I like it.”

Will grinned, unable to help himself.

Hannibal’s hand shuffled restlessly on the seat, fingers drumming, and Will felt an irrational urge to scoop his hand up in his own, then snuggle up against him and rest his head on Hannibal’s chest again. He would never forget how Hannibal felt beneath him.

Will watched him thoughtfully, dying to drag every damn answer out of him about why it would ever occur to him to gift him any of this, and the amount of thought which he had put into the purchases. “Well anyway,” he said, letting him off the hook for now, “Not only is everything you sent me absolutely exquisite and completely to my taste, but _you_ look…”

_Like a five course meal. Ahem._

“Pretty damn good yourself,” he managed with a smile.

“Why thank you,” Hannibal smiled back with a cute duck of his head. “But you know I probably just asked the assistants in the shops to help me pick everything.”

“Maybe, but...no. I don’t think so.”

“Will, you’re a mind-reader, or you have well-placed spies...or else you have excellent instincts about people.”

“Or all three,” Will suggested, and they both laughed, the sound of it a nervous duet.

He touched the headband in his hair, which was made with white-frosted leaves, pearls, and what looked like real diamonds twinkling amidst his curls. Will didn't want to know if they were real, because if so, he should give this thing back immediately, and well...he didn't want to do that.

“Have I said thank you?” Will asked with sudden realization. “If not, I really should have…”

“Think nothing of it,” Hannibal insisted nonchalantly, “To be honest, I couldn’t quite resist the chance to give you such things, and it will make me almost terribly happy if you should thoroughly enjoy them.”

Climbing into Hannibal’s lap and laying a deep kiss on his mouth was _not_ an option, right? Will replaced the idea with a sigh.

Then his curiosity came back. “So, I see you decided we need Phil to drive us around tonight?”

Phil was Hannibal’s driver, the perpetually cheerful, portly fifty-something man whom Will had first met the night they went to Splash.

“Is this an interrogation?” Hannibal smirked.

“Maybe. I can’t quite figure you out, Hannibal Lecter. I feel like you’re taking me to prom.”

“It does seem appropriate for tonight’s outing, but I have to admit that isn’t the full truth of why I’m not driving us myself.” Hannibal’s mouth stayed open for a few beats, his tongue pressing briefly to the roof of his mouth trying to form more words, impulsive ones, but he stopped himself.

“Say it,” Will urged him, nudging his knee slightly with his own. “No filter, I thought that’s what you liked about me, anyway. Give me the same, your honesty. Why else did you want Phil to drive us instead of you doing the honors?”

“Because I didn’t want to drive off the road,” he smiled. “I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes off of you.”

“Do…” Will fought to continue his snappy repartee as the actor’s words made the world sway slightly. “Do you flirt with all your friends?”

“No,” he admitted. “Just the ones who claim to have no filter while always asking me hundreds of questions about myself and almost never talking about _him_ self. Or how he really feels. Any more questions?”

“I….” Will tried to think of anything, but his brain could only access desire for Hannibal, sending shivers through him, yet making him feel incredibly warm.

“Is this the place?” Hannibal smiled casually as Phil found a parking spot in the half-full lot of Santini Banquet Hall, a generic function venue which was so unimpressive that they honestly might as well have held the Faculty Banquet in the multi-function room on campus.

Phil opened the door for them, leaning down to confide, “Trust me, I got those paparazzi wolves off your back for the night. I’m getting awfully good at the old bait-and-switch where they’re concerned.”

“Thank you as always, Phil.” Hannibal patted his friend on the back, but Will noticed he looked vaguely worried when the driver brought up his trash journalism stalkers. 

“Everything okay?” Will asked as they walked to the entrance. 

With its plain brick veneer, the banquet hall could just as easily have been a home for seniors or an Italian restaurant. Effortlessly glamorous, Hannibal seemed to trail stardust wherever he went; he belonged here even less than he did in Will’s house.

“It’s only that I won’t be able to avoid Freddie Lounds, Tattle-Celeb.com, and the rest of that business for much longer. Ms. Lounds is far too ruthlessly intelligent to fall for Phil’s schemes much longer, and where she goes, the rest of the gossip-mongers are certain to follow.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go places with me so often,” Will suggested, wishing he didn’t have to -- but after all, it was the sensitive suggestion, in the circumstances. “I know we aren’t officially dating, but it’s kind of obvious there’s something going on between us.”

Hannibal paused, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets and surveying Will with coy interest. “Something?”

Will rolled his eyes, but soon after he found himself licking his lips, his gaze flitting to Hannibal’s luscious mouth with high level temptation. “Something.”

“ _Something_ is worth the risk,” Hannibal determined, serious despite the playful smile still on his face. “Of course we should pay attention to things such as personal space and avoid any public hand holding and the like. There are many reasons why it would not do for the public to be aware I am dating anyone, or Something.”

“Of course,” Will said, completely flustered. “Um, no public make-out sessions either, then.”

There he went again, off to the races, _flirting_ so easily it came as a total shock to him.

“No, more’s the pity,” Hannibal answered softly, drawing his lower lip into his mouth for a beat before he added, “I do so like to show off and make it clear to the world that the object of my romantic interest is spoken for.”

“Y-yeah, so that’s too bad,” Will fumbled to say, red-cheeked and buzzing with so much excitement, thoughts of Hannibal treating him possessively and dominantly, showing him off and spoiling him, and it was all way more than he could handle calmly.

“Tragic, in fact.” With his eyes twinkling, Hannibal looked Will up and down once more before he suggested, “Shall we?” and nodded to the entrance.

***

Inside the unimpressive function room, chintzy carpet was topped by round tables covered in plain white tablecloths beside a well-worn hardwood dancefloor. Bored-looking junior college instructors milled around making quiet conversation, most of them wearing semi-formal attire, nothing even close to Will and Hannibal in their nearly matching, elegant blue suits.

Beverly and Brian came rushing up to them excitedly. Bev was all decked out in a short, silky dark green dress while Brian’s suit had a tie to match. 

Brian gave Hannibal a friendly grin as he introduced himself. “I can't believe I'm meeting the infamous Draven! Brian Zeller, and can I just say, welcome to the Baltimore Community College Annual Adjunct Faculty Banquet, and this is your last chance to flee before they bring out the stringy all-you-can- _not_ -eat baked chicken dinner and the half-comatose Fledgling String Quartet.”

Hannibal chuckled and shook Brian’s hand. “The Fledgling String Quartet?”

“That’s their actual name,” Will clarified. “The band leader’s name is Rudy Fledgling.”

“So, you two look amazing,” said Bev, perching a hand on her slender hip. “Will, who knew you cleaned up so well? That suit, the shoes and...the _crown._ Are they all new?”

“It’s a headband,” Hannibal put in, his fingers hovering for a moment at the small of Will’s back as they shared a conspiratorial laugh, the two of them feeling for all the world like a couple indulging an inside joke.

Even the merest brush of Hannibal’s hand had the power to send butterflies wildly cascading in Will’s stomach, and he knew it wasn’t sensible. They should hold back from each other even when Freddie Lounds was highly unlikely to learn of their evening out together, but God...it felt so good, Hannibal’s touch, the dream of them in a real relationship. Will’s common sense weakened, threatening to disappear altogether.

“Beverly, come with me for a sec?” Will blushed, his skin tingling where Hannibal had just barely caressed him. “I think they put out those caprese kabobs, so we should load up on them before they disappear.”

Once they lingered by the appetizers on the long table pushed against one wall, Will reached into his pocket and took out a check, only for Bev to cluck her tongue and push it back at him. 

“Come on, let me pay you back for the tickets for this, I was just waiting until payday, and--”

“It’s fine, I got you, Will. You get the next one.” Bev smiled warmly, refusing as usual to treat Will’s perilously low income as the pariah territory which he regularly feared it was.

“This is so absurd,” Will acknowledged, cupping the back of his neck and nibbling his lower lip as he watched Brian introducing Hannibal to the entire rest of the adjunct faculty and their dates, all of whom had gathered around the star with an eagerness which Hannibal took in stride, beginning already to sign every item he was handed and pose for smiling selfies.

He was so good with people, so patient and attentive and _handsome_...Will almost felt hypnotized just watching him work the crowd. When he snapped himself from the would-be daze of it all, reality seemed darker than ever.

“I mean, what if Hannibal finds out how poor I am?” He worried. “It’s pathetic. I got my first payment for the script and it’s already almost completely gone to all the overdue bills I had built up.”

Bev sighed, “C’mon, you can’t just keep hiding all the problems in your life from him, Will. You work hard and do your best, now that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t think it’ll be the worst thing in the world if you at least tried letting someone in. Just look at him.”

Hannibal had his arms around two nerdy Business Finance professors as they posed for a third who took their photo while the middle-aged number crunchers threw up peace signs. Will fell prey to a laugh devolving into a soul-dragging sigh.

“He got you this outfit, didn’t he?” Bev asked gently. “It’s gorgeous; you really do look amazing.”

“Thank you, so do you, but see, this whole thing with the suit and the rest of it, it just goes to show what a bad idea it is for me to get any closer to Hannibal. I don’t want him to think I’m looking for some...movie star sugar daddy.” 

“First of all, why the hell not?” Beverly chortled, biting a cherry tomato off her kabob stick and chewing as Will tried his best to enjoy the soft, balsamic-drizzled mozzarella wedge from his own appetizer. “I wish Brian was my sugar daddy, _damn_. Or even better, I could be his sugar mama. You know, I’m usually on top in bed so that might make more sen-”

“Oh, God, stop, stop, please, I do _not_ need to know that,” Will insisted, holding a hand up as they giggled.

Will, however, was resilient in his pessimism. “And anyway, I’m not a charity case, Bev. All I’ve ever wanted was to stand on my own two feet and prove I can do it on my own. Raise my kids, be a writer, be self-sufficient, not some cash-strapped, sex-thirsting, desperate wannabe.”

“You couldn’t be a desperate wannabe if you tried,” Beverly smiled, although her eyes flickered with concern. “Listen, did you _ask_ him to get you a Cinderella suit and shiny shoes, or that crown thingy?”

“Well...no.” Will watched listlessly as the Fledgling Quartet set up their instruments and music stands, as usual looking extremely confused about where they were and why, a quintessential BCC mood. Will could relate. “He did that on his own.”

“Like Prince Charming,” Beverly swooned. “Chances like this don’t come along every day, Will. I mean, you met the guy from your favorite show, whom you’ve had a massive crush on for years, you actually _meet_ him in real life and have a connection with him, and he’s more than interested, he’s smitten -- see?”

Will glanced over to see Hannibal gazing at him expectantly. The actor gave a small wave and a shy smile as the crowds waned from his luminous presence. The adjuncts were by now satisfied with their celeb encounter and headed over to their assigned tables to await their dinner. 

“Fuuccck,” Will mumbled, waving back at Hannibal. “I can’t do all this Prince Charming, Cinderella stuff. Fairy tales aren’t real. He’s on the rebound, we’re both a mess, and the financial disparity between us would only create an inappropriate power dynamic in any relationship we might get into. Plus, he lives in Vancouver. I’m not moving to Canada. How would I ever work out childcare with Frederick?”

“Don’t forget to mention the explicitly sexual fanfic you wrote about his character,” Beverly put in, obviously sarcastic. “I would hate to see you sabotage this chance at happiness without being thorough in listing all the reasons it won’t work before you even try.”

“Yes, exactly. See that, Bev, finally you’re talking sense,” Will nodded. “Imagine if he ever saw that. Chapter 53? A dealbreaker if I ever heard of one.”

“Ooohhh, Chapter 53,” Beverly enthused, “Damn. You know, sometimes, I reread it just to get in the mood before Brian and I--”

“I don’t need to know this!” Will repeated, grabbing more kabobs to bring to Hannibal. 

Gerald McGee from the Theatre Department materialized beside them to cast Will a deadly glare. “You are monopolizing the only decent food at this event,” he snapped.

“Sorry, Gerry, jeez,” Will shrugged, backing away as a cursory examination of the highly questionable “ambrosia salad cups” beside the waning platter of kabobs confirmed his statement.

“Whatever. I assume you’re responsible for bringing Hannibal Lecter here? We’ve all heard about your little screenwriting endeavors, so it stands to reason,” Gerald said flatly.

“I love how you say that as if it’s a murdering hobby I’ve taken up,” Will retorted. “And yes, Hannibal is here with me. _As my friend_ ,” he reminded himself and Beverly, who just shook her head.

“He’s a decent enough actor, a bit Eurotrash, a bit hammy, if you ask me, but then,” Gerald reasoned, gesturing with his skewer.

“‘ _I’ve worked with Bette Midler, and after that no other performer could possibly hold a candle_ ,’” Will and Beverly finished his sentence for him in perfect unison based on the number of times they’d both heard him make this statement.

“Well,” Gerald sniffed, “Yes.”

***

Will sat down next to Hannibal and tried not to tremble so much he risked dropping the plate of appetizers instead of setting it on the table. 

“Try these, they’re great!” he suggested, his voice coming out a little too loud and chirpy. 

Will didn’t know what was worse, the sound of his voice complaining ad nauseam about his life in some self-indulgent pity party, or the sound of him trying to be upbeat when he was spiraling into a state of aroused and frightened frenzy. How could you be this stressed out and turned on at the same damn time?

“Oh, thank you, Will,” Hannibal answered breezily. 

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes as Will tried not to gawk at the working of his strong jaw around the food or the glide of the swallows down his beautiful throat, his tan skin offset so fetchingly by that creme-colored shirt. 

The band started playing, each musician just a few beats off from the next until they managed, after a clearly desperate struggle, to join together in a recognizable melody.

“I think this is our song,” Hannibal suddenly broke the lull in conversation, standing and putting his hand out to Will.

“We don’t have a song,” Will smirked as the beginning notes of a strangely maudlin cover of “A Whole New World” started up behind them, the tune slow as the musicians valiantly continued their attempt to play together in correct time. 

“Au contraire,” Hannibal corrected him smoothly, leading him to the dancefloor and guiding him sleekly into a waltz, just as if they were dancing to some amazing band that actually deserved this sort of performance.

Will gaped at him, wondrous all over again at his skills as a dancer combined with the way he naturally showed Will how to move, as if the younger man wasn’t doomed to be a completely inept dancer. As if he belonged up here with Hannibal, in the clouds.

“This song is perfect for us. _Aladdin_ is another film I have watched many times with Abigail, and we always loved this scene. Ah, hear this bit?” Hannibal twirled Will fluidly, then held him a bit closer. 

That low, husky rumble in his voice had returned to play devilishly with Will’s heartstrings and composure. “‘Tell me, Princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?’”

“It, uh, almost sounds like you’re asking me that question,” Will pointed out, trying his best to mirror the actor’s steps as they followed the correct melody a lot better than it was actually being played. 

“I am,” Hannibal admitted with a wink, still holding Will as if it was what his big, capable hands had always wanted to do. “I’ll admit that’s my secret about you, Will. I think you are a prince.”

“Have you always been delusional, or is this a recent development?” Will asked as his knees seemed to liquify and his ankles wobbled, but the older man gripped him a little more firmly with only the merest lift of his brows to question Will’s reaction.

“It's my honest opinion,” Hannibal answered simply, “You're lovely and clever, soft and strong all at once, worthy of royal treatment. I have thought of you this way ever since...Will?”

 _Too much, it's all too much. Did he really just say that?_ Will’s eyes wandered from his overpowering, beautiful eyes, looking for somewhere safer to land, something to make a sarcastic comment about to save him from falling deeper into him and the words he’d said. Words without a trace of the emotional manipulation or smarminess which Will had come to expect from those he dated. Hannibal was so sincere all the time, and the last thing Will wanted to do was to be disarmed by it.

“Will, the night we...the night of _Overlord_ ,” Hannibal resumed carefully.

Will laughed, “I’m sorry it’s just— _Overlord_ \--“

“Focus, Will.” 

Hannibal could obviously read his standard tells by now, and it was sending Will into a low-grade panic. He couldn’t hide from Hannibal if the actor could see right through the armor he'd long since crafted to hide his real emotions. 

“I feel…” Hannibal took another moment to name it. “I feel as though I’m chasing a firefly around with a jar and I want you to talk to me, even if it’s only for a minute. Just you and me.”

The heady thrill of being wrapped in Hannibal’s arms like this, swaying to the music, the pressure of being offered what he wanted when it would only lead to deeper trouble...Will _tried_ to focus. “What?”

“Why did you hold me that night?”

Will’s heart slammed his ribcage at the memory of it, Hannibal’s smell of rich aftershave and tears, the heat of his powerful body pressing up against him, the way the actor seemed to need not just anyone at that moment, but only Will. 

“Because I knew how you felt,” Will shrugged. “I felt that way when my marriage ended and I wish someone would have held me. I’d have given anything. I wanted you to have that….that comfort if I could give it.”

“Hmm. That fellow across the room has been staring at you,” Hannibal informed him with quiet amusement. 

Will turned slightly to see Matthew using his patented angry puppy dog eyes, an ambrosia cup hanging dissolutely from one of his hands. A month or two ago it might have thrown Will, especially because Matthew had a new haircut and looked pretty good. Then Matthew’s wife, Sorrel, returned to his side and he immediately reorganized his features into nonchalantly social, doting spouse mode. What a tool.

“Yeah, he does that,” Will frowned. 

“So, am I here partly to make him jealous?” Hannibal inquired, intrigued, not offended.

“I mean, no, I really thought it would be fun if you came tonight, and, and it is,” he smiled more softly, squeezing Hannibal’s hand and roving his fingers over the older man’s shoulder just a little. “Buuutttt is it also kind of fun to see him being the jealous one for a change, just for two seconds? Maybe? I don’t know, I have a really weird relationship with that guy. Matthew.”

“Do tell,” Hannibal prompted as the song shifted sloppily into a continued Disney medley, the violinist’s bow ripping across the strings with jarring sharpness as they tried to segue into “Part of Your World.” 

Will realized that when he was dancing with Hannibal, even the actual worst string quartet of all time didn’t sound so bad. Any chance to be in his arms was well worth a few distantly horrendous notes.

“Uh, so, Matthew’s a fellow English teacher at BCC, only he’s full-time of course, and he’s married, but he’s been trying to initiate eye sex with me for at least a year, and I kind of used to let him? It was awful and I feel awful about it. I was...God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, I was lonely and he would start talking about fishing and philosophy, Marvel and DC...and how I was _doing_ , and actually caring about my opinions, and it was nice, the attention was nice, even the eye sex was a little taste of something I needed then.” Will felt Hannibal’s posture stiffen as a slightly irritated look crossed over his face. 

_Oh, God, he’s jealous, and I’m going to have an actual orgasm on the dancefloor of the Santini Banquet Hall._ Will forgot who Matthew Brown even _was_ , just that easily.

“I’m sorry,” Will murmured ruefully, fighting the way the actor’s reaction flooded his body with more tingles, “Is it too awkward for me to talk about this? I, um, you know perfectly well I didn’t intend to talk to you about anything remotely…”

“Sensitive?” Hannibal asked with a sly smile, “Personal? I’m delighted, Will. I want to hear all about you, every hope, every dream, every sadness. No, don’t give me that disbelieving look, I’m completely serious. And all I can think of now is how I can get you to keep telling me things. DC and Marvel, for instance, now that’s interesting. In addition to your fondness for _Blood Law_ and _Doctor Who._ You’re a big fan of science fiction and fantasy.”

“What of it?” 

“Nothing, nothing whatsoever except my friendly admiration. If we were dating, I might feel differently about your nerdy boy tendencies; it might be rather a turn-on for me. Your cosplay at the fan convention, for example, but given our circumstances, I’m entirely unaroused.”

“Right, well...good,” Will blustered. 

“Anyway, continue telling me about this odd relationship with your fellow professor, Professor.”

“You’re--” Will laughed, “I swear, this is my only embarrassing revelation of the evening. And so to finish my story of regret, I decided I could never be anyone’s other man. I already knew that because of what happened with Frederick, how I felt when he...but that’s another story, never mind. I guess I let myself forget because of how good it felt for someone I was attracted to to show so much interest in me, or maybe I was waiting for Matthew at some point to say he was getting separated, because what other excuse could he have for his behavior? But of course he never told me any such thing, and I had to splash some metaphorical cold water on my face and snap out of it. I did. After a few months of flirting, I started to avoid Matthew, and he’s been giving me the ‘little lost boy of rejection and woe’ look ever since.”

“Rather sleazy of him,” Hannibal observed, “But that is my own very much biased opinion on the matter.”

“It’s incontestably sleazy.”

“Yes. I just wanted to let you know I was biased on the matter,” Hannibal winked again. 

“Do you think I’m a terrible person?” Will fretted as the song stopped and they slowly stopped dancing as well, but did not let go of each other. It was starting to get to be a habit, holding onto each other even with the flimsiest excuse such as a dying melody. 

“No, I still think you’re a prince. But you’re also human, and there’s nothing terrible about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to try and combine this chapter with the next one to fit the whole date in one go, but I just won't have time this week, and still wanted to update. Coming soon: the slow burn aspect of the story will reach its conclusion 😉 So I can't wait to continue! Thanks for reading and Happy Holidays!


	9. Chapter 9

“Want to go back home now?” Hannibal asked as he handed Will into the car two hours later. 

True to its nefarious reputation, the dinner had been inedible, but thanks to Hannibal’s presence the dancing was absolutely divine. Will’s feet were tired but his mood was still electric, as if his heart had been dealt several expresso shots.

He shook his head and shot Hannibal a mischievously accusing look as the actor settled into the seat beside him. “You know very well I don’t want to go back home by myself right now. I can admit it would take very little persuasion to get me to stay out with you a bit later.”

Will touched his headband, nudging it loose carefully, and Hannibal murmured, “Is it too heavy? Let me help.”

The pearlescent leaves had become entwined with Will’s soft brown curls, so that Hannibal had to carefully unwind several locks in order to pull the pretty crown free.

“It’s beautiful,” Will murmured, looking down at the headband, rosy-cheeked and nearly reverent. Every heartbeat his gaze wandered from Hannibal’s face formed a separate mystery, enticing and tormenting.

Hannibal let out a husky laugh that was almost like a moan. Will glanced up at him as his blush deepened. 

“What is it?” Will cocked his head slightly, intrigued by Hannibal’s own flustered demeanor.

“As I mentioned earlier...you make me rather nervous sometimes.”

“I can’t imagine how that can possibly be,” Will smiled.

_Don’t bite that lip again don’t bite your lip…_

It was all Hannibal could do to hold back from kissing those sweet lips and laying a few besotted bites of his own on the pink, pillowy flesh, every time Will nibbled them.

Hannibal’s own lips tingled as his heart thundered, and he told Will softly, “I suppose you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“You make me nervous, too,” Will admitted. “You get me to open up, and that’s something I told myself I was never going to do again. You make me like you when it’s a crazy idea to do that.” 

“I’ll try to stop doing it, then,” Hannibal joked, lightly bopping Will’s nose to diffuse the sexual tension that was driving _him_ quite crazy at the moment.

“Please do,” Will answered with faux-sternness. 

Phil got back into the driver’s seat and turned to face them with his usual joviality. “Where to, folks?”

“Well?” Hannibal inquired archly, looking to Will for direction.

“Have you been to the beach since you’ve been here?”

“No,” the actor admitted. “Just some sight-seeing of the harbor during break time on set.”

“I think you need to see the beach, and let me get you a real dinner. Phil, do you know Delphine Beach in Montclair?”

“Of course I do,” the driver crowed, “Or at least, my GPS knows, and I’m about to find out!”

“Thanks, Phil,” Will smiled.

Hannibal watched Will's fingers pressing into the leather upholstery on the backseat and wondered if he had to keep doing other things with his hands, too, to hold back from the man beside him. But he admitted to himself that might be wishful thinking.

“The beaches will all be closed by this time. We would have to sneak in,” Hannibal murmured, feigning a scandalized reaction.

“I know,” Will smirked, giving him that sexy eyebrow lift that drove him wild, and Hannibal loved how their mischievous sides seemed to match up perfectly.

***

They stopped into a cute seafood restaurant near Wolf Trap, where the friendly staff knew Will by name and made a fresh batch of blue crabcakes, bright mixed vegetables and some items strangely called “hush puppies” to go, even though they had technically just closed for the night.

Will and Hannibal ate on the beach, side by side on a blanket which Phil had pulled from the trunk of the Bentley. Sipping on cold white wine from plastic cups, they stared out at the water gently lapping into soft waves under a starry sky. 

“This rice is quite flavorful,” Hannibal mused as they tasted this and that from the assorted and very delicious items in the take-out containers in front of them.

He held the small bowl of spicy rice just under his chin like such a well-behaved gentleman that Will couldn’t seem to suppress an infatuated grin just looking at him. 

“That’s dirty rice,” Will explained. “Reminds me of my days in New Orleans. I went to college down there, picked up a tiny hint of an accent along the way.”

“Ah, I wondered about the derivation of that charming lilt which often wanders into your voice.”

“You don’t miss a trick, huh?” Will shook his head with another grin, and Hannibal could have spent years happily counting how many times he could make that gorgeous smile spread across the writer’s face.

A few more bites of food satisfied the growling void in Hannibal’s stomach which had been occasioned by one look at the adjunct faculty banquet baked chicken. The blue crab had a slightly salty taste with a gentle sweetness underneath, and the flaky-moist meat was complimented ideally by a crisp breading, not greasy in the least. Even the “hush puppies” turned out to be rather good, doughy little pastries that made him chuckle, “Yet another meal which Jimmy will not be hearing about.”

“You gotta have a little fun sometimes,” Will laughed, bumping their shoulders together.

Hannibal’s appetite evaporated into distracted fixation on the younger man’s lips ever so subtly wet with cool wine, his eyes bright in the moonglow, their legs so close to tangling on the blanket.

“I think that is my line, Will, wouldn’t you say?”

“I always have fun with you,” Will admitted, leaning an elbow across his knee. 

His lashes fluttered as thoughts flitted through his mind and he slowly processed how much more he could let himself open up to Hannibal. Yet another series of fascinating expressions on the lovely face which Hannibal could be entranced by for as long as Will would allow. He would never be the one to pressure or prod another word from his lips at such a moment, when every secret was a gift, so difficult for Will to feel brave enough to bestow, and therefore incredibly precious.

“It’s the funniest thing, because I never have fun when I go on dates, yet our non-dates are...well.”

“Something,” Hannibal put in, and Will nodded, brushing his cheek against his own shoulder shyly. 

“Yeah. Usually, if you meet someone -- which generally means you matched with them on an app -- well, there’s weeks of bland small talk chats before someone loses the contest of who has to ask the other out or else look back on all those boring conversations as wasted time. Then you show up to some place you don’t wanna be so the person can bore you silly in person, probably try and get you into bed so they can ghost you and start the whole process all over again with the next poor victim.”

Hannibal blinked at him slowly, as if Will was describing an incomprehensibly complex mathematical equation derived from the databases of an alien spaceship.

“‘Ghost’?”

“Ah, that’s when you completely ignore someone for the rest of eternity, although it only takes a couple days of it before the designated individual concludes they have been ghosted."

“Well, how could one possibly make a real connection using such a system?” Hannibal wondered, wide-eyed. He was most definitely not cut out for any such shenanigans.

“You don’t,” Will clarified as if this, as well, was obvious. “You just keep feeling around in the dark hoping someone will be able to tolerate your crazy whenever it manifests, and holding yourself back from asking for or enjoying anything for yourself, and then if you’re lucky, _someone_ will be interested in you, but I have yet to experience that rare phenomenon since my divorce, which happened because my husband was not interested in me.”

“He’s a deplorable fool,” Hannibal snapped, causing Will to sit up straighter, startled by the fire in his eyes. 

“A little judgemental there, Hannibal.” Will’s tone was soft and sensuous all of a sudden, a change from the adorably neurotic venting he’d indulged mere moments before.

“I’m just calling it as I see it, your majesty.” Hannibal cupped Will’s cheek and ran his fingers along the writer’s stubbled jaw as Will leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. 

“Tell me more,” Hannibal implored, and Will squinted at him suspiciously through one half-opened eye. 

“It’s just going to be more of my crazy. I’m supposed to be protecting myself from sharing too much with you until you find me as annoying as I often find myself.”

Hannibal sighed. “Why do you do that?” 

Will shrugged, “What?”

“Persistently insult yourself, it’s a habit with you. Every time you commit some tiny mistake, you remark upon it as ‘typical’ and play it off as a joke, but I can tell it really bothers you. And just now, tell me, why would you find yourself annoying? You know I’m here with you because I think you are anything else.”

“I messed up my life,” Will admitted. “Sometimes it’s all I can see about myself anymore. Love mattered to me, maybe a little too much, and...guess I just figured that my marriage was my one shot, you know, and I blew it. I married the wrong person and now I have to coparent with that same wrong person for the rest of my kids’ childhoods. It’s left me with this taint, like this upsetting blight upon the idea of love or soulmates. I thought I was right once, I was wrong. I was wrong about everyone else I’ve been with, too. Plus, I mean now I’m in my thirties and most other people my age are already married. It’s hard to meet people, harder to get your hopes up high enough to give them a chance. This is too much of me talking, please talk about something else, please just stop me.”

“I don’t want to,” Hannibal smiled, watching attentively as Will rolled his shoulders back, then clasped the back of his neck. “I can’t get enough of you. Everything you tell me makes me want to know more. I find you sensitive, vulnerable and real...perhaps I never realized how much I would love being with someone who embodies those qualities. How much I admire them. ”

“But that’s -- not, you’re not…” Will shook his head.

Hannibal placed his hands on the younger man’s shoulders, looking at him in askance. 

“May I? You’re stiff here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. It’s from carrying Rose around, and sometimes when I get upset, the tension gathers really tightly there -- _oooh_!”

Hannibal had shifted behind Will, kneeling and carefully starting to knead the knots from the writer’s upper back, shoulders and neck, moving up and down with varying degrees of pressure. “Tell me if it’s too hard.”

“No, God, it’s perfect,” Will sighed.

Every bit of tense muscle Hannibal loosened gave him a sense of quiet relief, and he asked with his breath warm against Will’s neck, “Why were you upset just now?”

“I don’t want to scare you off,” Will admitted. “I don’t know why you _haven’t_ been scared off by me. I’m a--”

Hannibal put his hand over Will’s mouth. “Stop right there. You’re a prince.”

A tear kissed Hannibal’s fingers right before he drew them away, but he said nothing about it, and Will seemed to want him to ignore the fact. 

“Tell me something random about yourself,” Will asked, swiping at his cheek. “The mood has gotten way too dark. Tell me, like...your top five favorite movies.”

“Very well, I will tell you one movie title,” Hannibal offered, continuing to massage his shoulders, “In exchange for you telling me, after each one, about something you want. Something in life you dream of having, no matter how unlikely it seems, that doesn’t matter. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure, at least it’s cheerful,” Will reasoned, still obviously dubious at his desire to know such things. 

When was Will going to start believing in Hannibal’s interest? When would he let himself?

“Very well, then. Number five, _North by Northwest_ ,” Hannibal confided.

“Respectable. Alfred Hitchcock, Cary Grant, Eva Marie Saint, a kiss while the train goes through the tunnel, then hanging off presidents’ noses on Mount Rushmore. An admirable choice.”

“Your turn,” Hannibal murmured, stroking his hands over Will’s back.

“Five,” Will answered dutifully, “I want a dog. Or seven.”

They both laughed. “I love them so much," Will went on, "Have since I was a kid, but Robbie’s allergic, and before I was adopted, my...well, anyway, never had one, always wanted to find a gaggle of strays, make them my own.”

“They would be lucky dogs,” Hannibal mused. 

He inhaled the sea salt and aftershave on Will’s skin with growing obsession, making himself keep talking lest he turn that lovely face to his lips and do the only thing he’d wanted for weeks now. “Bedelia and I never had pets, and it is something I had not given much thought to. But of course, I don’t really care to think about my marriage at this moment.”

“That’s evident,” Will remarked, and Hannibal felt his thoughts, even with blue eyes cast straight ahead to the luxuriating foamy waves. 

He felt Will’s understanding that since they met, he’d avoided all thoughts of Bedelia, the same miserable thoughts which up until befriending the writer, he had thoroughly intended to wallow in. 

Will had given him a reason to change his mind about his life’s path and how bleak it seemed. So what if he was avoiding deep examination of the wounds which his broken marriage had left him, so what if he would rather be happy than sad when happiness was so easy to touch, when it lay right beneath his fingers at this every moment? Perhaps it seemed short-sighted and too impulsive, but it never felt that way, not with Will. 

Everything felt different with Will, and it was too hard not to lean into the excited bliss of that.

“Four,” Hannibal proceeded, a mild reproach in his tone at Will’s short accusation. Will chortled, then hummed at his attentions as his hands dipped under the bottom of his shirt to massage deeper into the warm, smooth skin of his lower back. “ _Laura_.”

“A classic film noir, another intelligent and intriguing choice, Hannibal. Quick question, though, are there any movies in your top five that aren’t in black and white and from before 1960?”

“I like the classics,” Hannibal admitted. “Perhaps because I am old enough to --”

Will snorted. “Please. You weren’t even born when any of those movies came out. You must have worked to cultivate your old man taste in films.”

“I am quite a bit older than you, though...that doesn’t bother you, I take it?”

“I’ve imdb’d you on several occasions,” Will admitted amusedly. “I know your age, and I like it.”

Hannibal’s heart skipped a very aroused beat and he sank a hand into Will’s curls, giving the silky hair, moist with sea air, a light ruffle. “Good.”

“Aren’t your hands getting tired? You don’t have to keep on -- oh, _wow_...” Will seemed to have to swallow a moan as Hannibal pressed both thumbs beneath his shoulder blades.

“And that is what you get. Now, you owe me your number four desire in life.”

“Right, right, um...four. I want to be a published author and be able to quit teaching. I just want to write and be a dad. Right now, I have no time to write and I’m always cramming it into these tiny little bits of free time I get every few days. The words are pumping through my bloodstream and I have to let it build and build until I get a chance to write them, it’s maddening.”

“I had a day job once upon a time, you know. It felt like that, only acting as a hobby until I started to get paid gigs. I never felt that assistant managing a car wash was my true calling.”

Will giggled. “Still, the idea of you constantly wet and soapy would have some appeal to your fans.”

“Of which you are one,” Hannibal murmured into his ear, causing him to shiver. The actor grinned. “Three. _Double Indemnity_.”

“Three. I want to pay back the money I owe my dads. They’re always helping me…” Will dropped his head and Hannibal leaned into his stance to try and catch his gaze again.

“That’s what parents are supposed to do for their children,” Hannibal said. “I would always help Abigail, no matter how old she is, and no questions asked.” He knew Will felt horribly self-conscious and was telling something else he’d probably vowed not to, so he lapsed back into respectful silence, settling beside Will with his arms stretched behind him and heels of his hands planted into the sand.

“It’s so hard to get enough courses to pay the bills,” Will confessed. “Please don’t ever use the fact that I told you this to try and buy things for me. I’m just answering the question, okay?”

“Very well, then,” Hannibal smiled consolingly. “I promise.”

“The Blue Slate hasn’t been doing a great business in the last couple of years and I’m afraid my dads can’t really afford to be helping me as much as they have been. The screenplays have been terrific for a little extra money, but I need to write more, and I can’t get the time because of the grading and the kids, and…I’ve been working on a novel since forever. Can’t ever seem to make progress.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I suck at this game, keep bringing up sad subjects. This was supposed to be cheering me up.”

“It can. Picture yourself in your new house, with no teaching job and no money troubles. Just being a dad and writing your big, beautiful heart out every single day.”

Will smiled as if smiling hurt and looked over at him with shining eyes. “Two.”

“Two, _Sabrina_. Original version.”

“You softie,” Will grinned. “A rom-com! Alright, two...I want to fall in love and get married again someday. After everything I’ve been through, I truly do not know why I still want it, but I do.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t matter why. You can figure it out as you go,” Hannibal shrugged.

Will shook his head vehemently. “Not with something as completely dangerous as falling in love, and sure as hell not with something as permanent as marriage!”

Hannibal clucked his tongue. “Whatever happened to closing your eyes and holding your breath at first? One. _Casablanca_.”

“Just imagine,” Will smirked, “An award-winning Lithuanian superstar like you. Out of every random beach in the world, you walk onto mine.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Hannibal said teasingly but nothing could be truer. He didn’t miss Bedelia, he didn’t wish she was here with him instead; he didn’t want to be anywhere but right here in this unpredictable moment with his reluctant prince.

“One,” Will murmured, shifting a little closer until just their pinky fingers brushed together. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“So come with me,” Hannibal said, standing and stretching out his hand. “Come on, do you trust me?”

“Ha-ha, Aladdin. No, I don’t.”

But Will put his hand into Hannibal’s anyway, until the actor’s warm grip enveloped him. Hannibal pulled Will to a stand, kissed his knuckles, then dropped his hand with a most wicked look. “So prove it.”

Will watched in disbelief as the actor started whipping his clothes off. “Uhhh, Hannibal, not that I’m necessarily complaining, but why the striptease?”

“Do you feel teased?” Hannibal grinned. He dropped his shirt and trousers to the blanket and stood before Will in his boxers, eyes sparkling. “I’m actually just in the mood for a swim, if you care to join me.”

***

Momentarily, Will was just too distracted by the sight of his body to form words. There were all of his mind-blowingly sexy features in real life, _touchable_ , even! Will and Bev had had paused _Blood Laws_ on many an occasion to ogle those sculpted pecs and biceps, his strong forearms and the way he was incredibly fit but still had a bit of softness to his belly that was somehow almost the sexiest part of all.

During the time Will spent trying to process this sight and batting subtly at his mouth to make sure he wasn’t drooling, Hannibal had started off towards the water.

“Hey, Hannibal, wait up! This beach is a little rocky-- be careful!”

Worried he’d slice his foot open as he continued towards the water with only a quick glance back at him and an “okay” gesture, Will got his suit off as quickly yet carefully as he could, folding it on the blanket. It was true he was wearing Star Wars boxers patterned with tiny Millenium Falcons and wookies, but he was too concerned for Hannibal’s safety to feel an otherwise mandatory flinch of self-consciousness, or to worry about how his own figure looked. 

Will came down to the water’s edge and let the water coast over his toes. To his relief, he found that this area of the beach actually wasn’t all that rocky; it must be the part over by the picnic tables where he remembered encountering some sharp stones.

The water was exactly the perfect mix of crisply cold at first, then welcomingly warm once you got used to it. Deep blue waves were illuminated by a stream of moonlight that seemed to make a path right to Hannibal. How could Will resist following what destiny had clearly designed to be an almost cinematic moment between them? No point wondering when he had started putting faith in destiny again. He waded over to where Hannibal stood up to his chest in water gently lapping at his tanned skin.

“This feels good,” Hannibal said, marveling at the sensations of being held by the water and looking up into the sky with the belief it might actually hold some answers, that there might be a god somewhere or a sympathetic ruling consciousness that had led him to this night. 

When Hannibal looked back at Will, he was gazing unrestrainedly, no trace of armor in the expression, just pure wonder. 

“What are you thinking about?” Will finally caved to his nervous twinges, but it was so adorable that Hannibal couldn’t regret the way the younger man’s nose crinkled and he bit his lip again. 

“I’m happy here with you,” Hannibal said simply, giving Will space, just wanting him to know how much he meant the words, only wanting to give Will the friendship he needed. 

Hannibal couldn’t believe how Will had opened up to him, trusted him, and he wouldn’t do anything now to ruin it or make Will doubt how much he appreciated the chance to simply be with him.

Will swam closer to him in one fluid, elegant motion, decisive now. He placed his wet hands on either side of Hannibal’s face and tried to lean up to kiss his mouth, but his toes slipped a little on the slick stones until he had to stop and regain his balance. Hannibal grabbed him by the waist and lifted his body up until Will wrapped his arms around him, then his legs, and their lips met, slippery but insistent. Will’s over-bitten but lush lips were so cool and slightly bumpy on the outside, warm within enough to make Hannibal tighten his arms around him. He licked into Will’s mouth and the younger man was eager, tasting of white wine and dizzy desire. Hannibal kissed deeper, sucking Will’s tongue as the vibration of a moan in the back of his throat made Hannibal thrust fingers into tangled curls, his free hand landing on Will’s ass and holding him still tight and secure against his hard body. Will’s teeth grazed his bottom lip when they came up for air and Hannibal's heart pounded, his fingers kneading the tight, soft perfection of Will's ass. 

They stared at each other in amazement, breaths coming in stuttered sighs, Will’s hand pressed to Hannibal’s chest, his long fingers splayed in the damp silver curls there.

“We don’t have any towels,” Will said suddenly and very seriously.

They both considered the reality of their reckless swim for a few beats before bursting into laugher. 

“Phil can bring towels,” Hannibal chuckled, and he took Will’s hand as they walked back to the blanket, both shivering already.

Hannibal called Phil to bring the car back before they both froze. It was getting later and cooler and they were both soaked to the bone. In the meantime, they packed up the empty food containers and threw them away, stealing little glances at each other that were downright sinful.

“Are you happy?” Hannibal asked a bit tremulously as they dripped all over the sand, silly and smiling.

“Yes,” Will affirmed, “I can’t help but be happy now.”

An undercurrent of melancholy about the future lingered in his tone and his haunted smile, but Hannibal accepted his words with the hope he could find a way to dispel Will’s doubts.

Phil soon appeared in the parking lot with the Bentley, letting out a low whistle at the sight of them.

“What kind of trouble have you two been getting into?”

Hannibal laughed as he caught the towel Phil tossed to him and Will rubbed at his wet hair with a second one. “We’ve only just begun getting into trouble.”

***

Phil dropped the two trouble-makers off at Will’s house and went home for the night. They stood on the front porch and waved as the Bentley disappeared, and then returned hopelessly attracted eyes to each other’s expectant faces.

Hannibal backed Will against the house and captured his lips in a searing kiss, one big, strong hand wandering down the side of Will’s body in his loosely refastened light blue shirt while the other held his wrists in a tight grip above his head. "We should go inside," Will moaned, so Hannibal let him go, making it possible for Will to get the door open, but even then it was a struggle to keep their lips apart or their hands off each other long enough to accomplish the normally simple task.

Inside, they stumbled towards the bedroom, twisting and turning in each other’s arms, kissing almost nonstop, Hannibal proving to be the best damn kisser Will had ever been lucky enough to lock lips with. There were so many obstacles in the hallway leading to the stairs that Hannibal laughed, almost tripping over a series of cardboard boxes, one upside down and topped by a toy cash register, the others full of plastic food.

“What _is_ all of this?” he chuckled against Will’s already kiss-swollen lips.

Will cackled ecstatically. “It’s a supermarket Rose and Rory set up earlier--”

Hannibal kissed him soundly again, then Will grabbed his hand and led him upstairs, where they practically fell into his bedroom.

The problem was simple. Hannibal was just too yummy not to kiss at least a thousand times, and Will could not possibly be expected to stop. They had already mapped out each other’s mouths so many times with wet, velvety questing tongues and teasing bites, and still every wanton, needy kiss made Will wilder with want. Hannibal pressed him to the wall of his room -- he really seemed to like pushing Will against things, taking the upper hand without either of them needing to discuss roles in this. Anticipatory pleasure roiled uncontrollably through Will’s body at the thought of Hannibal dominating him, and he let his wrists be pinned hard to the wall as Hannibal laid blissful siege to the pale column of his neck with sloppy, sucking kisses and soft groans. Will’s face had tipped automatically as Hannibal leaned in to lick and bite at his vulnerable throat, and when Hannibal moved closer, the urgent bulge in his pants brushed against Will’s own.

“Take me to bed,” Will panted weakly, and Hannibal lifted him right off his feet, then conveyed him swiftly as requested to his bed, letting out another soft laugh as he crunched against something on the floor with his shoe.

“What is that?” he asked, squinting down at the floor in the shadowy room.

“Rose spilled Lucky Charms this morning,” Will laughed, “I thought I got them all.”

Hannibal smirked and slipped his shoes off, then Will’s. The younger man lay back against his pillow, feeling more than a little crazy to be doing this here and now, in his room where he had only recently switched the calendar page over to July’s cast photo of Margot Verger as Rosamunda. Otherwise, they would be about to have sex right under a big picture of Hannibal himself. Plus...they were both a little bit sandy and salty, but there was no possible way they were waiting another second.

Hannibal practically leaped on him, but with his habitual balletic grace, as if prancing on a beloved prey in the bed. He started kissing all over Will, his face, down his neck again, unbuttoning his shirt and pressing needy, hasty little kisses to each small bit of pale skin he exposed to his hungry eyes. He smoothed his hand over Will’s hip and clutched as Will stroked shaking fingers over his sculpted cheekbones, then delved a hand through his silvery hair. The thought of him lowering his face more, then more, it had Will ready to disintegrate, his moans melting from one to the next without a prayer of him controlling their volume.

Will wasn’t really all that confident about his body; he thought it just looked okay, skinny legs and maybe a little too round in the stomach, maybe his skin was sort of pasty because he never seemed to tan, but Hannibal kept groaning and almost devouring him with kisses, even as Will half-whimpered, as seriously as he could manage, “I don’t have a Hollywood body.”

“No, you don’t,” Hannibal affirmed, lavishing his belly in messy, open-mouthed kisses, tickling Will’s sensitive skin with his light beard. “You just have the most gorgeous, sexy, irresistible body I’ve ever seen.”

Will thought he must be imagining all of this, it was too impossible, yet almost hyper-real. “You’re beautiful, _beautiful,_ ” Hannibal insisted throatily, rising back up to cup his face and admire him close up. “Your eyes, your lips, every single inch of you…”

He slid his hand confidently down to the hard line of Will’s erection under his trousers, and Will’s hips bucked as he shuddered in pleasure. “Let me show you,” Hannibal whispered against his lips. 

Hannibal crawled down the bed, unfastened Will’s trousers and eased them down as Will lifted his hips. “Oh, my darling,” the older man sighed at the sight of Will’s aching length, and if he were less reverent, Will would have been absolutely embarrassed that he was this rock hard, precum leaking into Hannibal’s hand when it wrapped around him.

But Hannibal growled, “You’re so aroused, so perfect, ready for me,” and Will just threw his head back and moaned louder than ever as the actor took him deep into the slick, tight heat of his mouth. As Hannibal’s head bobbed devotedly, he hummed in pleasure, licking and stroking Will, then taking him deeper, letting the tip hit the back of his throat as Will’s hips surged forward again and he blurted, “Fuck-fuck-fuck, _Hannibal_ \---”

“Tell me what you like,” Hannibal rasped, working him exquisitely from base to cockhead with his slick grip moving up and down. “Everything, I want to give it all to you.”

“I don’t know,” Will lied. 

He actually lived most days in a tormented mode of sexual frustration, the consequence of having a very high drive with no lover to satiate the needs which his wild imagination gilded with the most specific and naughty fantasies. Hence, Chapter 53…

“Show me what _you_ like, what you want,” he pleaded to get Hannibal’s attention away from his own outlandish desires which were so over-the-top, after all, and nothing like what sex had ever been for him in real life.

Plus, it’s not like there was a kink Hannibal was likely to mention right now that Will would say no to. He was a wet, hard, trembling offering of adoration on Hannibal’s altar right now.

Hannibal kept a hand on Will’s stiff cock, stroking slowly as he shifted his body up and brushed his free hand across Will’s hard nipples before lowering his lips to capture them one at a time, sucking slowly, each ministration of pressure around the taut, dusky nubs making Will cry out. 

The actor’s hot, relentless lips travelled back down Will’s stomach, the light graze of stubble on his jaw tickling and gently scraping, Will’s nails trailing the feverish skin of his back and shoulders. It felt as though Hannibal’s whole body had tensed and heated up just for Will. He was an animal now, the animal Will wanted, the only one.

Hannibal ducked his head between Will’s thighs, spread his ass cheeks and licked at his hole, and Will’s legs began to tremble harder than he thought they ever had in his life. 

“Beautiful,” he sighed again, “Perfect,” breathing short and hard against Will’s fluttering hole. He began to lap at Will’s entrance with an all-encompassing devotion, evoking jolts and shivers and whimpers of bliss from Will. 

Hannibal let a generous amount of saliva drip from his mouth onto Will’s hole, then slid one thick finger inside, grunting in approval at the easy glide because Will was tight but wanted this, Hannibal could feel it in the way he relaxed his body, and Hannibal had him sopping wet already. Will thought he was probably going to faint; he could already see stars. Hannibal slid his finger in and out, his free hand smoothing over Will’s hip as he added a second finger and started thrusting faster and deeper. Will clutched at his hair, his breath rising and falling in time with the tempo Hannibal set, his face tipped upwards, mouth wide open as he panted with total abandon. 

Knowingly, Hannibal built the rhythm up faster and higher, finally allowing his powerful fingers to touch the bundle of nerves inside Will, and the younger man was swept into a sharp, fierce orgasm that reverberated through his whole body.

“ _God_!” Will cried out, shaking uncontrollably, and Hannibal looked up at him with a naughty smile, his hair in his face, very obviously pleased to have made Will come this way.

But...Will told him to do what _he_ wanted, so why would he...no one had ever given Will foreplay long enough to make him come. Why wasn’t he just taking him fast in missionary style, coming abruptly then apologizing half-heartedly for his haste like Will’s previous sexual partners had, every single time? He was still staring at Hannibal in confused elation when the older man stroked his thighs and murmured, “Good boy. Feels nice to come on Daddy’s hand, doesn’t it?”

 _Daddy…_ And _”Good boy"…_ Will moaned out a “Yes,” then unfastened Hannibal’s pants and tugged them down impatiently.

“Yes, Daddy,” he sighed, stroking Hannibal’s huge, throbbing cock, intoxicated by every nuance of the way they were together, pieces slotting into place, the sense of coming home that couldn’t possibly last, but God, how Will wanted it to last.

Hannibal moaned, “Oh, Will,” gripping his curls and accepting Will’s submissive offer of his mouth, fucking into the wet warmth as Will sank into the wonderful relief of being taken and used. 

“You feel too good,” Hannibal shivered, “Please, my darling...I just want to be inside you,” he pulled Will up so they were on their knees face to face, and he whispered against the younger man’s jaw, pressing feathery kisses there. “I don’t want you to think I was expecting anything, but I have a condom--it’s in my jacket pocket, I’ll get it.”

“I put some condoms in here yesterday,” Will murmured, blushing as he opened the bedside table drawer. Will took one out and handed it to him along with a bottle of lube. “It’s okay, it’s great that you were prepared. I haven’t had anything else on my mind but this in weeks.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Hannibal said with a rough sigh, looking rapturously into his eyes. “Yes, I feel the same. I want you so very, very much.” 

Hannibal rolled the condom on and kissed Will’s lips, slicking his erection against Will’s entrance, adding more lube to coat Will’s hole, thrusting in with his fingers again to ensure the younger man was ready to take all of him. 

“Please, Daddy,” Will whispered, “Please.”

“My sweet boy, how could I deny you anything, much less what I want most in the world?” Hannibal pressed inside him, groaning ecstatically as he gradually sank deeper into Will’s tightly beckoning body. Will’s nails dug into his back, a futile attempt to take the edge off the nearly unbearable pleasure, and Hannibal cried out louder, pulling his cock almost all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt. 

“Yes. Scratch me,” he begged, and Will gave into the urge to dig his nails in deeper, slightly breaking the skin. The pain made Hannibal wilder, thrusting in long, deep strokes that made it hard for Will to keep his legs up around him because they were trembling to the point of near-numbness. Will was so wet that Hannibal almost slipped out on a few backwards thrusts, and he moaned, pulling out fully this time before firmly guiding him to roll over, then go up on his knees, arms stretched in front of him under the pillow where his cheek rested. Hannibal’s thumbs dug into Will’s ass as he kneaded the soft curves, muttering some more words in Lithuanian that sounded absolutely depraved. 

“ _Tu tokia sušikti tobula. Aš noriu padaryti tave savo._ "

Just the sound of his voice made Will shake even harder and mewl. Hannibal sank back inside and began fucking him, slow and hard, holding Will's hip in one hand while his other reached up to grip Will’s throat. Fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing! What was--how could he-- Will’s lightly choked cries seemed to make him even crazier, and he thrust faster, the slap of their bodies on each collision duetting with both of their savage moans until Will came again, this time a longer and marrow-deep explosion of pleasure that melted him down to a quivering baby doll in Hannibal’s hands. The older man slapped Will’s ass, drawing from Will a broken whimper of joy as he drove into him faster and faster, ragged sighs taking him over until he burst with a harsh shudder.

“Will,” Hannibal breathed heavily with his beautiful body draped over Will’s shaking form. They had fallen into this position, spooning tightly, softly moaning and clinging, without Will even realizing it. He was dizzy, sweaty and in deep need of the cuddles he was getting, for once in his life, without having to ask. Hannibal managed to remove and tie off the condom, then toss it into the trash while barely breaking the embrace, and then he was caressing Will’s arm slowly, kissing his ear.

“What...what did you say to me in Lithuanian?” Will whispered, as if the question pressed to a bruise on his heart too tender for him to speak it louder.

The two of them felt like heaven, mashed together in a jumbled heap of limbs and clingy fingers, Will’s heart still pounding so powerfully.

Hannibal eased Will onto his back and hovered over him, then they looked into each other’s lust-blown eyes as Hannibal gave a slightly hesitant chuckle. “ I’m afraid I was a bit presumptuous,” he admitted, as if he actually couldn’t tell how completely he’d claimed Will now, body and soul. 

“I said, ‘you’re so fucking perfect,’” he confessed, kissing the tip of Will’s nose, then both of his cheeks as he caressed the firm rounds of his ass, then traced up his spine. “And then I said, ‘I want to make you mine.’”

He reached down and stroked his fingers over Will’s hole, igniting another wave of trembles and desires for more that should be impossible given that they were thoroughly spent at the moment. Maybe it was his deliberate expression of uninhibited lust for Will’s body, his worshipful admiration when Will had spent years doubting every part of himself to be worthy of love; maybe it was the sexy mess of silver-strewn hair falling down over his brow and into his utterly sincere, gleaming amber eyes or the resilient strength and sturdiness of him. Whatever set Will off, he suddenly couldn’t stand the intense intimacy. He pulled away to roll onto his side, curling up in a ball as he burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” Hannibal asked worriedly, giving him space, only resting one tentative hand on his shoulder. 

Will tugged him back in and Hannibal snuggled up behind him again, where it was starting to feel like he belonged. 

“Did I hurt you, did I do something wrong? Are you well?” Hannibal was starting to get nervous, so Will kissed his hand and held it to his cheek. 

“No, Hannibal, I promise, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were amazing, you _are_ amazing.”

_I’m just in love with you, that’s all._

Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as Hannibal stroked a curved hand down his arm, knuckles gently soothing him, and once again he didn’t press Will to say anything more.

Will could never tell him; he could never find out that Will loved him, not when this was a summer fling that must simply be giving them both what they deeply needed during this vulnerable time in each of their lives, and that was all. Hannibal would be gone in a month and a half, and Will didn’t want him to leave with the burden of guilt that he’d broken Will’s heart, just the pleasant memory of a special if fleeting affair. He couldn’t find out about Will’s insanely overpowering passion for every single molecule of sweet chaos that defined him, anymore than he could find out Will was a pathetic, horny fanboy who’d drowned his lonely soul in internet smut over him before they even met.

So Will didn’t say _“I love you,”_ didn’t tell Hannibal that every other time in his life he’d had sex, he’d come to regret it in time, even the sex with Frederick, because it was later ruined with shame and anger at his ex's infidelity, but he would never regret sleeping with Hannibal. He _couldn’t_. Will didn’t tell him that every other person he’d slept with had treated him with shoddy carelessness, had been selfish with Will until he felt like a hollowed-out husk of unfulfilled longing for the sort of adoring, rough desperation which Hannibal had just poured out all over him.

Will didn’t tell Hannibal any of these things, but as the older man kissed his tears away and ran his fingers through Will’s hair where he’d tangled and knotted it and soaked it in sweat, Will wondered if he could feel the truth anyway, as close as they were. Maybe Hannibal already knew that Will was helplessly falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: happiness, more smut, maaayybe some real world consequences starting to show up (🥺), but not to worry, also, even more smut ✨✨✨


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm here with an early update this weekend, since I've expanded the upcoming section of the story and I have an extra chapter to share. This time, the focus is completely indulgent and 100% smut and tender feelings. I know some of you are really curious to see the fallout that's coming from the various enemies of our boys, so rest assured -- it's coming in the next update.

Will woke up slowly the next morning, feeling perfectly normal, as if it was just another typical Saturday, until he was roused by the smell of something deliciously savory cooking and the sound of a deep male voice singing softly under his breath. Then his heart lifted like a hot air balloon and he got out of bed, stopping in the bathroom to brush his teeth before venturing into the kitchen with a questioning smile.

The memories of the night before were pressing hot on his consciousness at every edge; first the several rounds of insatiable sex, then a very, very lazy shower together. 

“Please let me buy you a new shower,” Hannibal had begged as Will sagged almost half-asleep against his chest, deluged by the overly effective water pressure of his really awful shower-head. 

They had laughed blearily, washing each other as Will realized he’d never laughed so much with another person in his whole life; his lungs and heart ached with the over-abundance of happiness that felt like greed, too perfect and too sweet to be kept. Still, it was all worth it, worth the pain to come -- he mustn’t let himself forget, or he’d get too caught up in the future to enjoy the present.

“You’re not buying me a new shower, Hannibal,” he’d insisted, roving a soapy hand through the actor’s hair to wash out the ocean. 

“We’ll just knock out this wall, what harm can it do?” Hannibal had tapped the wall with a know-it-all look rendered less convincing by the water cascading over his face and making him blink his damp lashes as Will fell even more in love with his ridiculous, cute, dripping wet face. “Someone could get hurt trying to take a shower in here, we can barely fit both of us, and--”

“And the shower-head is more like a machine gun,” Will admitted. “But you don’t need to spend that kind of money on me. After all, it’s generally just me in here, and how many more times will you and I even be taking showers at my--”

“Uh-uh, mylimasis,” Hannibal murmured, cutting him off with a kiss. “I’ll take no for an answer on the matter of replacing this unfortunate so-called shower, but not in making you cheer up and stop concerning yourself with paranoias of our supposedly doomed future.”

“ _Supposedly_ doomed,” Will tickled his soapy stomach, then kissed his neck as Hannibal laughed and moved his hand away from the sensitive spot.

 _Mylimasis._ Will wasn’t even gonna call him on that one. He’d just obsessively Google-translate it later when he was alone.

“You incorrigible optimist,” Will accused.

“You exhausting pessimist.” Hannibal raised his eyebrows and shut the shower off, then grabbed the towels from the hook by the sink and wrapped one around his lover, rubbing his shoulders attentively.

“This is just like the plot of a romantic comedy, Hannibal, can’t you see that?” Will dried off, then wrapped the towel around his hips, blushing at the way even now -- after having sex with him for over an hour -- Hannibal’s eyes still shot admiringly to Will’s bare torso and the slender lines of his hips. 

As Will retrieved a new toothbrush from the medicine cabinet, the two of them found a way to move around the minuscule bathroom without bumping into anything but each other (which was fine with them). 

“How so?” Hannibal inquired, nodding his thanks for the toothbrush and standing side by side with Will as they passed the toothpaste back and forth. 

“Well, we’ve been on the ascent for weeks now, since we met,” Will explained as he replaced his toothbrush, then grabbed the comb and made a few futile passes through curls that would be messy no matter what he did. “Like a rollercoaster.” 

He gave Hannibal the comb, trying not to faint at how debonair Hannibal looked, despite having a Minions towel wrapped around his waist, as he ran the comb through his damp silvery hair. 

“And in the plotline of any romance, the rollercoaster car inevitably plunges downward after reaching the peak. Do you think we’ve peaked, Will?” Hannibal gave him an intently sensual smile. “Because I may be quite tired at the moment, but I assure you, I have many more plans for ways to make you peak.”

“Jesus, would you stop trying to distract me with your...sexy?” Will insisted, unable to help kissing him. 

They went back to his room and Will gave him some spare pajamas, pleased when Hannibal opted to just put on the pants. The less clothing Hannibal had on, the better, as far as Will was concerned. If he was going to abide in his own former fantasy, he was going to enjoy the benefits while they lasted. Something deep in his heart ached for him to let go of his almighty defenses and believe this was real, but Will couldn’t trust himself that far, much less poor Hannibal, with his golden intentions and impulsive ideas.

“Now clearly, it’s only a matter of time until you get in huge trouble with Jack for starting an affair before the ink dries on your divorce paperwork, risking a blow-up in the press and terrible PR, which could negatively impact your career.”

“We’re being very careful, Will. I have no intention of allowing the press to learn of our relationship before I’ve even spoken to Abigail about the divorce. That can’t happen until Bedelia returns with her, as we wished to do it in person. But I promise you, even if a ‘blow-up’ should occur, we would all weather the storm.” 

“Okay, well, if not that, then maybe one of us is lying to the other, or some other problem will come to light --”

“If we’re to plummet, Will, tell me this.” Hannibal crossed his arms over his bare, hairy, highly distracting chest and posited, “Doesn’t a couple have the strength to face ups and downs, and even hold on together when the ride goes upside down, if they are truly meant to be? Is it so mandatory that we fear the fact that life can’t always provide a sweet and easy peace?”

“Meant to be?” Will flopped down on the fresh sheets they’d managed to put on despise their completely drained state and crooked a finger at Hannibal. “Get over here, Mr. Destiny, Mr. Ultimate Romance.”

“Why, Will, what’s this?” Hannibal gave him a cat-like smile and crawled across the bed before hovering over him, stroking one damp curl back from his brow. “Another proposition?”

“Yes, it’s a proposition for Destiny, Romance and Optimism to be my big spoon all night long. Are you up to the job?”

Hannibal was more than up for the job, and now, as Will padded into his kitchen, patting his hand over a big yawn, he discovered it wasn’t the only special talent the older man possessed on top of being an amazing actor and a stallion between the sheets.

The table was laid out with the nice cloth napkins he normally only brought out on holidays, and two champagne flutes were filled with orange juice beside steaming mugs of coffee. Hannibal, dressed in Will’s t-shirt and lounge pants, which fit him very snugly, placed two big plates of decadent-looking omelets and things Will didn’t even recognize as anything other than _fancy_ on the table. 

“Good morning, Will,” he said, approaching for a brisk but soft kiss on Will’s baffled mouth. 

Speaking somewhat like a mix of a posh restaurant maitre d and a house husband, Hannibal continued, “Don’t you look lovely this morning, my dear. I’ve made omelets with goat cheese, green peas, truffle oil and lemon zest. You seemed so very tired, I decided to let you sleep whilst I went to the nearest market incognito.”

“Incognito?” Will repeated, blinking in the sunlight streaming through the windows as Hannibal pulled out a chair for him.

“Yes,” Hannibal said proudly, nodding to a baseball cap and sunglasses belonging to Will, which he had placed neatly on the counter alongside Will’s car keys. The hat had a slogan on it reading, _Bite Me,_ with an image of a fish leaping up towards a fishing pole.

“That’d do it,” Will laughed, thinking how unlikely it was that most people around sleepy, rural Wolf Trap would be checking to see if the latest cheesily dressed, random tourist and fishing enthusiast might be a movie star hiding in plain sight.

“So, what are these?” Will asked as he sat down and examined the decorative floral items placed beside his omelet. 

“Those are prosciutto roses,” said Hannibal proudly. He kept looking over at Will, taking in the younger man’s stubbled profile and the glasses perched on his nose, bringing out the bright blue in his eyes as they gradually became more awake, at Will in his white t-shirt, the flex in his arms as he reached for things on the table, _everything._ “I wanted to make this morning special for you.”

“Every moment is special with you,” Will confided with a shy smile. “Thank you so much for doing all this. I’ve never had...um, when did you plan on telling me you’re a five star chef, by the way?”

“I love to cook,” Hannibal explained, taking a sip of coffee, then expertly using knife and fork to create the most carefully, expertly composed bite on his fork with a small bundle of cheesy omelet complimented by a wisp of salty prosciutto. “It’s one of the pastimes I find most relaxing. Often I will go over lines for my performances aloud while working out a complicated recipe; somehow it seems to help with memorization. I most particularly enjoy cooking, however, when it is in an effort to give something delightful to someone I care for.”

“You don’t have to make an effort,” Will shook his head, downing a sip of juice that turned out to be fresh-squeezed. How early did Hannibal get up in the morning?

“You deserve an effort.” Hannibal laid his hand over Will’s with a look that was as serious as it was devoted, and how exactly was Will’s heart supposed to resist such a look? As if all the magic and fun and delight in the world had somehow decided to focus just on him.

_Romance. Destiny. And Optimism._

Will’s lower lip wobbled and his eyes threatened to glaze over with more tears. _I love you,_ he thought in a paroxysm of fear and adoration, _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Aloud, he said, “We’re in a bubble right now, Hannibal, as if we’ve made a whole little world for ourselves. I can’t help but worry, what’s going to happen when the bubble breaks?”

Hannibal remained patient with his anxieties, thoughtfully stroking a finger over the back of Will’s hand, as usual leaving tingles of pleasure everywhere he touched, taking Will’s breath away with the smallest gesture.

“When the bubble breaks, I’ll still be here,” Hannibal maintained, concern and strength of determination mingling in his eyes. “Now, then. Eat your breakfast.”

***

Will lived out the next few weeks simultaneously bursting with joy and infinitely aware of how delicate and doomed the feeling truly was, until at some point the joy eclipsed his paranoia and he started to relax for the first time in years.

He and Hannibal went on many more dates, a few every week; they went to the beach again and Hannibal gave him a piggyback ride as he ran among the waves, impossibly strong. They went to the movies and clutched at each other during the scary scenes. Hannibal came over and had dinner with Will, Rory and Rose, then stayed to watch t.v. after their bedtime, the two of them cuddled up on the couch with Will’s legs in Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal gave the most sensual foot massages, quickly leading to stolen, hushed, careful sex while the kids were asleep, Will riding Hannibal with slow, deep passion, Hannibal’s lips burning into his neck as Will cried out softly in sweet, devastating pleasure. 

They went on double dates with Jack and Bella until the four of them became such close friends that it felt like one more part of Will’s life that was meant to be there. 

Will started to remember how it felt to have a warm, strong hand in his whenever he wanted it, and learned for the first time what a huge difference it made in his life to have a partner who helped out with the kids without being asked. 

Hannibal could diffuse tantrums using a crazy blend of distraction and firmly persuasive chiding which amazed Will; he never freaked out when one or both of the children screamed and cried and whined over nonsense. He took all of this in his stride and even helped with the housework. Despite Hannibal’s high-class lifestyle, impeccable wardrobe and neat freak tendencies, he knew how to embrace life and not stress over the little things; Will’s comfort meant more to him than focusing on unimportant, petty grievances or seeing how much he could get away with _not_ doing. Hannibal was the anti-Frederick.

Will knew that this was what a man was supposed to do, and that it was only the unrealistic expectations he’d accumulated during marriage to a snobby, lazy one that had made him find any of this surprising, but even though Hannibal was only giving Will what he should, it fucking _mattered_ so much.

Before Will knew it, it was August and he had forgotten what it felt like to wake up on the weekends without half of the mattress weighed down by muscular, sexy-sleepy Hannibal, without his funny little Lithuanian murmuring before he was fully awake or the way the first thing he did when the drowsiness subsided further was to kiss Will’s neck. 

Will worshipped his body on those mornings; he couldn’t help it, as if his inhibitions were especially weak to this love when they first woke. He crawled under the sheets and sucked Hannibal until the actor moaned out his name and begged for Will to sit on his face. They’d sixty-nine for what felt like ages, taking their time to savor every second of decadent pleasure they could build up for each other without quite evoking orgasm, and then Hannibal would fuck Will lying on their sides, gliding his big, thick cock hotly and firmly into Will, biting at his neck, licking his ear, tugging on his curls, finally wrapping a hand around Will’s aching dick and bringing him off at the exact moment to ensure it synced up with when Hannibal finished himself, hips shuddering roughly against Will’s ass, fingers circling Will’s nipples, _”Good morning, Will”_ muttered in the naughtiest accent Will had ever heard in his life, right in his ear as shockwaves of incomparable bliss rocked his body and he came all over sheets they must have had to wash at least three times per weekend.

***

One Friday night, Hannibal found Will in the backyard arranging a surprise for him.

“It’s nothing too fancy,” Will said, intently focused on the sheet he was hanging up on the side of the house. “But I have this projector that connects to my laptop…”

Hopping down from the step-stool he’d used to suspend the sheet at a proper height, Will saw that Hannibal was slightly blushing, as if taken aback. Will had placed a picnic blanket out on the lawn, covered in soft cushions, and he’d hung fairy lights all along the house, even placing a strand decoratively on the back of the blanket. A cooler was filled with ice and held craft beers, soda and wine, while a small table was covered in delectable little appetizers, sweet potato hummus and homemade pita chips, popcorn with olive oil and sea salt, crudite with yogurt dill dip. 

“Will, when did you have time to create such a wonderful…” Hannibal trailed off, uncharacteristically speechless.

“Wait, that’s not all, check this out,” Will grinned, tapping a button on the laptop which caused the opening credits of _Casablanca_ to flicker onto the sheet.

“It’s perfect,” Hannibal smiled a bit mistily. He came to Will, put his hands on the younger man’s waist and nuzzled into his neck. “So perfect, my darling. I’m so touched…”

Will understood that Hannibal wasn’t used to being with someone who put in an extra effort for him, any more than Will was himself -- someone who remembered your favorite movie or pulled out all the stops to set up a special date night. 

He hugged Hannibal, rubbed his back and murmured, “I know how hard you’ve worked on this movie, all the night filming lately, after I’ve left set...just wanted you to have a relaxing, fun time tonight.”

“But Will, you’re run ragged between caring for the children, working on our script and teaching your classes, in addition to your responsibilities as head of household...it means the world to me that you would…”

“ _You_ mean the world to me,” Will assured him, kissing his neck, then lifting his face to press soft kisses to sharp cheekbones, glancing up into smoldering eyes that once again took his breath away. “I never truly believed I’d meet someone like you, Hannibal…”

He locked his hands behind Hannibal’s back and they seemed like two people on a little boat among rocky tides, but it was their boat and felt, maybe deceptively, so safe. 

Hannibal pressed his forehead to Will’s. “You were right there in front of my eyes for so long,” Will breathed out, “And I thought you were just a dream.”

“Mylimasis,” Hannibal sighed, pressing sweet kisses to Will’s brow, running gentle fingers through his curls.

“I can’t seem to find enough ways to try and let you know that you’re giving me the best summer of my life.” Will smiled, blinking back tears that threatened to deepen the waters around them and toss their little boat asunder. This was a happy night, full of simple but profound enjoyment, no time for crying about September and the bleakness that would come upon him in Autumn, when Hannibal was gone.

“Will.” Hannibal spoke his name prayerfully, cupped Will’s face and kissed his lips with slow, soulful warmth. “Aš tave myliu.”

He knew better than to say the words in English and frighten Will with promises of forever that couldn’t hold, but still the phrase, which sometimes Hannibal could not hold back from his lips, always seemed to hit him like an infusion of powerful joy and belonging. 

Did he really believe Hannibal was falling in love with him, or that the crazy mix of emotions which always accompanies divorce had only made it seem that way? Will didn’t know where to put his own feelings, which in spite of insecurity were probably far less confused. He was over his divorce by now, at least as much as he ever would be. It was Hannibal for him, and he knew with perfect clarity he was kissing the love of his life, who would depart for Canada in less than a month. Never before had Will felt such incomparable happiness shot through with deep sadness like a black ribbon woven into his bright red, vulnerable heart.

“I’m glad you like it,” Will said, trying to shake off the unbearable thunder strike of this dichotomy between bliss and pain, why couldn’t he just let go and live in the moment like all normal people? He cursed his own neuroticism, which he used to depend on to protect him from the dangers of falling in love; now he wished he was short-sighted and dreamy, not riddled by realistic and imposing premonitions of dread.

“Come on, make yourself a plate and I’ll open the beers.” Will set the movie back to the first scene. “You must be famished.”

“Yes, I am,” Hannibal admitted, reflecting on Will’s pensive expression while the younger man flitted about making the last few movie-watching preparations before settling against a large cushion with plenty of room for Hannibal to snuggle in beside him.

Will knew he wasn’t talking about the food, but so very much more. Still, he let it go, grateful for the movie’s presence to reduce the tension in his mood.

***

“That was fantastic,” Will enthused as the end credits rolled. “I only wish…”

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed. “I wish they could have stayed together. But somehow, that ending always felt more akin to a beginning to me.”

“Damn, you’re smooth,” Will rolled his eyes and took Hannibal’s hand automatically when, as usual, the actor stood first and leaned down to help him get up, as if Will was far too special not to consistently be treated like royalty.

“I can’t deny it.” Hannibal smirked, knowing just what he was doing to Will with his sultry admissions of ego, drawing Will’s body up flush to his own. “I’m being honest, too, you know.”

“I know,” Will said, somehow the words falling soft and heavy all at once. He smiled then, remembering. “Hey, I have one more treat for you, come on.”

They carried the leftover food and drink back inside and put it away, then Will took out some cartons of ice cream from the freezer and leaned up to grab a variety of toppings from the high shelf in the cabinet.

“Have to put it up here or the kids would have taken it all and eaten it before we got the chance,” Will laughed, as his upward reach caused the hem of his t-shirt to rise up and reveal a swath of his stomach. Hannibal stared, and Will only noticed when he came back down to his regular stance with bottles of chocolate and strawberry sauce in his hands.

Hannibal could not imagine how it was that Will had ever thought his body was anything less than divine, like Michaelangeo’s David had been rendered in flesh, or a princely angel somehow woken in human form. Every single inch of his supple physique had Hannibal in constant throes of irrepressible desire, and he was only glad he did not have to hide the urge anymore. He hoped that by now, Will felt as beautiful to himself as he was in Hannibal’s eyes, that he had helped to take away some of the nagging and hurtful self-doubt that had plagued this brilliant boy.

It was most certainly the best, and most memorable summer of both their lives.

“Do you have anything else up there in your secret stores?” Hannibal murmured, and Will locked eyes with him before nodding slowly, cherubic lips parting around a quiet sigh. 

“Yeah, can you help me?”

Smirking again as his naughty streak intertwined with deep love and need, Hannibal came near enough to Will that their bodies brushed together suggestively, then leaned up more easily with his extra bit of height to retrieve some bags of candy and shakers of sprinkles for the ice cream.

“See, it’s a make-your-own sundae bar,” Will explained, red in the cheeks by now from Hannibal’s sultry gaze and the way the older man hovered behind him. 

He poured the candy and sprinkles into small bowls, then took out larger bowls, spoons and napkins. 

“I see,” Hannibal noted, his breath tickling Will’s ear as his palm landed on the younger man’s stomach, pressing him against his hard body from behind. 

The combination of body heat, spicy cologne, and the stiff bulge pressing to Will’s ass made the writer gasp and reach a hand up to clasp the back of Hannibal’s neck. He ground into the big, firm line of Hannibal’s cock nudging impatiently to the front of his pants and moaned.

“C’mon, don’t you want your dessert?” Will teased.

“Yes,” Hannibal answered, biting Will’s neck and reaching a strong hand down to stroke Will’s own growing erection. “I want my dessert, baby. In fact, I need it. Something so sweet,” he took a cherry from the counter and popped it into his mouth, then spun Will easily to face him.

With a deep, wet kiss, Hannibal gave Will the cherry, smearing sugary tartness over their tongues. Will sighed, “You taste sweet, too,” and Hannibal pulled the well-broken-in grey t-shirt from Will’s body, looking at him with dead-set, devastating lust.

“I’m hungry,” Hannibal admitted huskily. “I want more.”

“Oh, Jesus, Hannibal,” Will laughed and moaned as the older man got the chocolate syrup and squeezed it with an indulgent drizzle on his chest and stomach, followed by a topping of whipped cream.

Hannibal licked his fingers with a teasing smile, then backed Will into the counter and began eating his dessert, licking whipped cream and chocolate from Will’s hard nipples, sending hotly intense waves of aroused excitement through the younger man’s body. He lowered his head and began using naughty little bites to eat the sticky-sweet mess on Will’s stomach, dipping his tongue into Will’s navel, lapping a trail of chocolatey whipped cream just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Still hungry,” he insisted, unbuttoning the jeans and tugging them down.

Will’s hard length stood to aching attention as he gripped the counter with a gritty sigh.

“Daddy,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “I need you so much.”

Hannibal was on cloud nine, never more euphoric than when Will relaxed with himself and admitted how he really felt, what he wanted.

“Always so responsive for Daddy, such a very, very good boy,” Hannibal praised, kissing attentively up and down Will’s cock, settling on his knees. He had long since memorized exactly what Will liked, so he knew what it would do to the younger man when all at once he stopped teasing and enveloped Will in the slick heat of his mouth.

Will let out a cascade of those breathy, high-pitched moans that never failed to make Hannibal completely feral with the desire to make his sweet boy come harder than ever, and to find his own pleasure thrusting hard into that gorgeous body. Hannibal tenderly cupped the inside of one shapely thigh, bobbing his head with expert attention to how much of Will’s long, increasingly hard, delectably warm and heavy cock he could take into his mouth on each loving suck. He built up the rhythm with slow, deep movements, taking Will right up to the edge as his boy cried out for him softly, running shaky fingers through silvery locks.

“ _Daddy,_ ” Will absolutely pouted when Hannibal pulled his mouth off before making him come, “So close, please.”

“You’re so very cute when you make that petulant face at me, Will.” Hannibal leveled him with a devilish smile and licked his lips as he stood up and ordered, “Turn around and lean over.”

Will moaned at the joy of submitting to him and rested his face atop his sweaty hands on the countertop. It was dim and very warm in the kitchen, a typical summer night with just a little breeze coming in through the window and the ceiling fan adding a bit more air to cut through the strong heat of August. Will could smell their sweet dessert combining with the growing scent of their sex, familiar in its salty musk, the collision of expensive aftershave and something considerably less so with a ship on the bottle. 

Music played faintly in the background from the playlist Will had absent-mindedly turned on when they came back inside. _”I always wanted you, sometimes it's hard / What do I do to lock you up inside my heart? / I wanted you from the start / I want to lock you up inside my heart...”_ Will stayed in position, ready and waiting as Hannibal found coconut oil and came back to massage Will’s pivoted ass with a heady growl of approval.

Will pressed his damp forehead to his forearm, biting his lip when Hannibal ate him out, groaning softly and lapping his tongue knowingly all around, then finally inside his hole. They were both so hard right now, Will panting with the overly sensitive throes of being edged, Hannibal almost as far gone though comparatively untouched. 

“See how lovely you are, how nicely behaved for Daddy?” Hannibal began scissoring him with his big, strong fingers easing in, coated in coconut oil joined with the slick of generous saliva, and God, even if it was just Hannibal’s hand, Will would have been more than satisfied; it felt unreal, to be covered in rapturously sincere praise and taken over by powerful fingers pressing ever deeper into him, but it wasn’t just his hand or his beautiful, awe-inspiring mouth. It was the knowledge that Hannibal was going to fuck him very soon, get even deeper inside Will with his thick, rigid cock and their bodies slamming together, and every electric quality in the scenario had him quivering and crying out pleas for more. 

“You’re the best dessert I ever had, baby,” Hannibal muttered, drawing his fingers out right when he had Will on the precipice again. Will’s hand slid down the counter in helpless, overwhelmed desperation, pleasure having gathered so hot and tight and insistent inside him just to suddenly pause. But he knew he was getting what he needed most of all, that the delays would make this so much better, that Hannibal put breathtaking care into his every move. Although his own desire was nearly uncontrollable, he always prioritized making this exquisite for Will.

Hannibal stepped back to toss his own shirt off, then shrug his pants down, hurried along by his aching need for Will and his decision to reward his good boy for being so patient. “Nice boys get rewards,” he smiled, roving a hand through Will’s sweaty, beautiful curls before lining his cock up at that pretty, perfect hole. As he pressed inside, he kept his eyes on Will’s face, cheeks bright and rosy, eyes wet with tears of pleasure, pillowy lips repeating “Daddy” and “please,” everything Hannibal could want in terms of beauty and so much more, too stunning to be believed.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real,” he admitted as his hips slid forward, flush to Will’s pert ass, and he squeezed one cheek, then spanked him just the way Will liked, hard but not _too_ hard, an ideal supplement to the sweet, shocking pleasure of his cock driving into tight, velvety heaven, the complete realization that Will wanted him equally. They were, in every way, one.

“Oh, God, you’re so good, Daddy,” Will cried out, going up on his elbows as Hannibal fucked him soundly; the time for restraint and gradual teasing was over, since neither of them could have stood another second of waiting for this. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ yes--”

“Will,” Hannibal gasped, “Baby, so perfect for me, my angel, I want to make you feel like this every day and night.” He slammed harder into Will, roved a hand up his slippery torso, covered in remnants of whipped cream and chocolate, and squeezed his nipples, rocking his pulsating, needy cock as fiercely and deeply as he could. They had been tested and discussed this, so that he knew this was the perfect night to come inside his precious boy, the sensations building sharp with almost agonizing bliss in his own body as he growled, “Do you want it?”

“Please,” Will nodded, “I want all of you, everything.”

Hannibal stroked Will’s cock as his orgasm neared, then roared through him more powerfully than ever, and he spilled plentifully in Will, warm and deep, just before Will slammed his hand on the counter and cried out Hannibal’s name, bursting with his own orgasm in thick spurts all over Hannibal’s waiting fingers. 

“I’ve _never_ had sex like this before,” Hannibal told Will emphatically because he needed him to know, even as he shivered and his heart thundered, his whole body tingling with pleasure, he gathered Will in his arms, holding them both upright as best he could, they were heavy-limbed now in the afterglow. “Never. You’re a part of me, burrowed so far into my heart. You’re the best part of me, Will.”

Will couldn’t say anything in response as, too wrapped up in emotion, he let himself disappear into their fantasy and the warm, strong heat of Hannibal holding him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Lock Me Up" by Charli XCX 🖤
> 
> I'll try to still update on Tuesday this coming week, fingers crossed as it's going to be kind of a crazy busy week. It will be sometime this week anyway. Thanks for reading and hope you're enjoying! 🥰


	11. Chapter 11

Everyone on set was used to them being a couple by now, treating Hannibal and Will with the natural understanding of secrecy that came with the Hollywood lifestyle. Even with her free-wheeling attitude in life, Bella was never going to breathe a word to the press about her friends’ love affair, and nor would the rest of the cast and crew. Although the male lead of _Now That I Found You_ was never glimpsed kissing the script doctor, it was just obvious to any of them working closely enough with the pair that they were head over heels for each other, unable to resist meaningful eye contact and smiles at any small moment they could steal them.

To Rory and Rose, Hannibal at this point was Will’s very good friend, who they were fond of but hadn’t fastened upon as a romantic prospect for their Dad, not yet. Reggie and Robbie had asked their share of coy questions, only for Will to chuckle and make some vague comment to get them to stop. Frederick was even colder than usual, since the incident at the hospital. When he picked the kids off or dropped them off to Will, he made snidely critical remarks about any minute area where he could criticize Will’s parenting. Will realized how much of their marriage had hinged on Frederick finding ways to make him feel small; well, it wasn’t going to work anymore, not when Will was done listening to his nonsense. And certainly not when the barbed comments emerged from transparent jealousy that Will might be moving on.

The paparazzi were getting more aggressive than ever; it seemed like the more cleverly Hannibal would dodge and duck away from their latest attempt to get pictures of him coming and going from Georgia’s house, or finding out where he _really_ went on the weekends, another five to ten scoop-hungry reporters would join the gaggle. Will made a joke at one point about feeling like a criminal on the run, scurrying hand-in-hand with Hannibal down a narrow alley when a gang of camera-wielding sneaks almost caught them emerging from a restaurant in downtown Baltimore. They managed to jump into the Bentley and escape as Phil executed another amazing getaway, Will ducking down to avoid his curly head being photographed, breathlessly noting that if this was as much a scene from a movie as it felt like, he would have Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now” playing in the background.

“You can’t hide forever, Hannibal,” Freddie Lounds called shrilly from the street corner as Phil made a lightening-quick dart into the next lane of traffic, smoothly avoiding both the flame-haired reporter and oncoming cars. 

“Sorry, sir, shouldn’t have the window down,” Phil lamented. “That woman has a voice like a boa constrictor hiss. Sends a shiver down my spine, I swear.”

***

One morning, Hannibal and Will strolled calmly into “Neil’s office building,” following the routine they now had down to an art: hold hands in the car, let go in the parking lot, maintain appropriate personal space until indoors again, and immediately grab onto each other at that point, if they were reasonably alone. 

Hannibal was especially excited today because Abigail was going to be arriving that afternoon, alone so far as he knew. Bedelia would visit at a later time in the month so that they could speak with her about the separation together. He was going to pick his daughter up from the airport and could hardly wait to see her.

As he and Will chatted incessantly about which activities they could take their kids to do together, making big, lovestruck eyes at each other like always, eyelashes batting like mad, hearts full and almost feeling free, they were suddenly and harshly forced to stop short in their tracks and shut up.

Bedelia was standing right in front of them across the room, a venti coffee in her pale, delicate hand, lingering by Neil’s desk and making small talk with Alana and Bella. Beside them, Jack stood telegraphing accusations and apologies at Hannibal with his smart dark eyes and a quick jerk of his chin towards the phone he was holding.

Jack wasn’t even _Will’s_ best friend, but Will read the agent’s silent message loud and clear: _“Why didn’t you check your phone? I’ve been texting you all morning!”_

There was a moment of confusion as Will wondered what Hannibal’s soon-to-be ex-wife was doing here all of a sudden, as he took in the sight of Bedelia’s flawless blonde hair and petite, glamorous figure in a snug white bodycon dress with really complicated high-heeled sandals that looked like the straps criss-crossed in a zillion places. 

Bedelia’s cool eyes flicked immediately to Hannibal and Will’s joined hands, the smile still frozen on her pink-glossed lips, a ponderous amount of eyeliner adding to the sharp incisiveness of her observations. 

Will felt like he’d been caught doing something terrible, but that wasn’t true; what a bizarre reaction. After all, Bedelia had broken up with Hannibal to experiment with her attraction to a co-star, so why should she care if he had also moved on, and why should Will feel guilty or ashamed about it either? He was just managing to pull himself back together when Hannibal dropped his hand, the actor’s face suddenly drawn and pale.

That’s when Will understood that it must be over; he himself was over as Hannibal’s lover. His heart dropped like a stone and his spine stiffened. What an idiot he had been to forget that this was inevitable! Hannibal saw Bedelia and let go of Will as if he was nothing but a temporary replacement, a summer distraction, just as Will had feared. Hiding the tears that welled up in his eyes, Will slinked quietly away to give him some probably long-awaited time to reunite with his wife.

***

Like a deranged, obsessive miscreant, Will peered over at Hannibal and his wife from across the street, watching as Bedelia pulled him into a fond embrace, then the way personal space between them kept on diminishing as they talked afterwards. They had come outside to talk alone, of course they had.

Hannibal and Bedelia’s body language was tense, their voices far too low for Will to make out their words amidst the hum of techs and actors roaming the set, going about their day as if this was an ordinary one, another lovely day to add to a charmed summer, as if Will’s heart wasn’t being brutally mauled right before their oblivious eyes.

He could only imagine how the sight of his sophisticated, astronomically talented spouse must be reminding Hannibal of everything he missed about the love of his life, how silly he must feel for ever thinking he might be falling for Will when compared to Bedelia...well, really, how could _Will Graham_ compare to a Grammy-award-winning, Broadway-selling-out, one woman phenomenon like that? Plus, Hannibal had a whole life with Bedelia, intimate ties and traditions that ran deeper than Will could fathom, things Will would never share with him. Finally, he couldn’t look at them any longer, as Hannibal’s face softened in response to Bedelia's pleading gaze and whatever sweetly adoring words must be falling from her lips.

He was fine with constructing the rest of this touching reunion in his own vivid imagination, like canvassing a horrific crime scene. Even picturing it in his mind wouldn’t be as awful as seeing it before his eyes for another moment. 

Bella caught up with Will when he was practically flying past the craft services table, knocking over several cardboard boxes of tea in his mad dash to get away from Bedelia and Hannibal. 

“Hey, wait up!” Bella paused and put her hands to her thighs, looking slightly worn. 

Will’s brow furrowed as he turned to face the actress. “You okay?” 

__

__

“Me? I’m splendid as always. Five by ten, baby,” Bella grinned, straightening up and putting one hand on her hip. In her “Full-time Hippie” t-shirt and denim skirt, two ponytails and Birkenstocks, she was the perfect image of plucky do-gooder Maggie. Yet there were faint circles under her warm brown eyes and her hands were trembling. 

“Are _you_ okay?” Bella asked, making Will wonder if she was combining her earnest concern for a friend with the need to cover up her own apparently fragile state of health. 

___“Fine,” Will shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water and gently taking Bella’s hand. “Come on, let’s sit down for a few minutes. You look like you could use this.”_ _ _

___“Do I look that bad?” Bella asked as they settled into the two director-style chairs under a shady tree nearby. “As the leading lady on this film, that might be cause for concern.”_ _ _

___“You’re incapable of looking bad,” Will smiled, cautious not to be too pushy. “Maybe a little tired.”_ _ _

___“Tired, ha, I’ll take it.” Bella shook her head, sipping her water as Will’s concern for her wan appearance superseded his own worries._ _ _

___“Maybe when this movie is done, you and Jack should go on vacation. You can rest and relax, you both deserve that,” Will suggested._ _ _

___“Oh, _Jack._ You know, I like him way too much.” Bella sighed. “I was fine before I met him, and he was better off without me.”_ _ _

___“I don’t think that’s true, and I know for a fact Jack would never agree.”_ _ _

___“There’s the rub.” She twisted a one of her ponytails around her hand, pondering. “Before Jack, I didn’t care about a damn thing except chasing the next risk; it stimulated my intellect and my mood, and I was exploring everything amazing I could do to turn on the color and light in my brain, push myself to see what I was capable of becoming. If I hurt myself doing it, who cared?”_ _ _

___“Those sound like pretty extreme terms to describe a habit of fairly regular partying,” Will noted._ _ _

___“There’s more to it than that; the partying is more a cover for everyone else and a distraction for me from my _real_ problem. The thing is, Will, I’m sick. And I have very little chance of ever recovering to live a full life.”_ _ _

___“Bella,” Will gasped softly, taking her hand, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry. Is it--”_ _ _

___“Cancer,” she nodded. “I know you’d never tell a soul, Will, you’re just not the type to spill a secret. Listen, you have to understand I don’t want to be pitied or coddled, that’s how I ended up here. And before Jack, I didn’t dread death; if anything it was kind of exhilarating, to burn through my life in a blaze of glory, then get to find out what’s next after this world? Shakespeare called death ‘the undiscovered country,’ but you’re an English teacher, you know that. I used to think it would be the biggest adventure, but now? Well, there’s a Chinese proverb that’s been on my mind a little too much: ‘the saddest thing is the death of the heart.’”_ _ _

___“Yeah. I hear that,” Will sighed. “And I don’t want to pressure you or do anything except offer an understanding ear and any help you might need. But for what it’s worth, I really do think Jack would want to know about this, that _he_ would want to be there for you.”_ _ _

___“The lies are eating away at me,” She acknowledged grimly. “But I don’t want him to look at me differently, as if I’m not… _me,_ fun-loving, breezy me, just some sickly stranger and a burden.”_ _ _

___Will shook his head. “You’re not a burden, you’re the woman he loves.”_ _ _

___“I’ve been so determined not to undergo any more treatment on such a thin chance of getting better. This remission, I’ve been assured it won’t last long. So pretty soon, I’ll have to face facts. Maybe I want to be saved now, maybe loving Jack has helped me learn to love me again. Besides, the idea of leaving him is terrifying.”_ _ _

___“I think you’ve gotta tell him, Bella. Together, you can face all of this. I just wish there was something more I could do to make it easier.”_ _ _

___“Being a good friend is enough, Will.” She patted his knee and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore...that was a lot. That’s the most I’ve talked about my illness in months.”_ _ _

___Will nodded, honored that she had trusted him. “Please tell me anytime if you need to talk or--”_ _ _

___“Of course, honey, you know I will. Now, enough with the dire and dreary news of the day.” Bella smiled wryly, blinking her tears away. “Are you freaking out that Bedelia is here?”___

__"Bella, we can't talk about my silly, thoroughly temporary romantic problems after you just let me know that..."_ _

__"Actually, can we _please_ talk about your problems, Will? I need not to think about my own. Rather desperately, as it turns out." _ _

__Will smiled in understanding._ _

___“Well, I--” He began, but his response was cut off by Hannibal’s wife, who strolled up to them with a huge, somewhat terrifying smile._ _ _

___“Bella, how delightful to see you again!” she cooed, practically sweeping Bella up out of the chair and into a big hug. Bella shot Will a perplexed look, gingerly patting Bedelia's bony shoulder._ _ _

___“And it is lovely to meet _you_ , Will,” Bedelia continued, the sound of that icy voice framing his own name making Will flinch._ _ _

___Bedelia rested a hand on her heart with a sigh of admiration. “Alana has told me how you turned the screenplay for this little-movie-that-could into the most charming confection.”_ _ _

___Will stood up, trying to figure out the best way to escape this conversation, freaked out by the creepy way Bedelia smiled, staring at Will as if cataloguing every detail of a potential foe._ _ _

___“Thanks?” Will answered, only to be pulled into a Bedelia hug himself as the actress yanked him close in a vice-like grip and muttered calmly in his ear, “Do you like sleeping with my husband? Do it again and I’ll make sure your screenwriting career is finished.”___

__How did she know? From seeing them hold hands, how could she conclude...was this a guess, or did Hannibal say something?_ _

__

__

___Will’s blood ran cold as Bedelia released him and patted his head, nose crinkling as she added condescendingly, “Do we have an understanding?”_ _ _

___As if he was a childish wannabe, nothing more. He ought to have had some clever remark ready, but Will was too overwhelmed by her presence back in Hannibal’s life and the intense way the spouses had been talking. His normally adept collection of sassy comebacks went blank._ _ _

___“What the hell was that all about?” Bella asked as Will stared after Bedelia’s retreating figure._ _ _

___“Oh, nothing, she’s just letting me know Hannibal is well and truly spoken for,” Will replied, running a hand through his hair with messy insistence. “I can’t believe I got myself into this disaster. Why would I date a man on the rebound; worse yet, a _movie star_ on the rebound who doesn’t even live here, who’s leaving? And apparently his wife is the stepmother from _The Parent Trap_!”_ _ _

___“Hmm,” Bella smiled, stepping forward and examining the delicate white gold necklace around Will’s neck, which normally lay just under his shirt collar but had popped out, gleaming in the sun. She toyed thoughtfully with the charm of a crown which was surrounded by tiny blue gems. “Hannibal gave you this?”_ _ _

___Will nodded._ _ _

___“Ever wonder why I always call him ‘Cowboy’?” Bella quirked a brow as Will laughed. “Check this out.” She pulled out her phone and then held it up, displaying a glossy photo shoot image._ _ _

___In the image, Hannibal sat backwards on a wooden chair in a darkened Old West saloon, his face set in melancholy resignation, a red kerchief hanging around his throat to top off his dusty tan cowboy outfit. There he was again, achingly hopeful, browbeaten but resilient...there was something about this particular image that couldn’t have summed him up any more eloquently._ _ _

___“First time I ever met Hannibal, we were both doing photo shoots for _Vanity Fair_. He’d just shot a Western; I was doing one of those “Hot Right Now in Hollywood” ensemble pieces with some other actors, and he made a point of going up to every one of us and meeting us, shaking our hands and saying he was sure we had brilliant careers ahead. He’s like that everywhere he goes, of course; his reputation precedes him -- as does mine, of course, ha!” Bella’s eyes sparkled as she continued, “He was such a gentleman, just like an old fashioned cowboy with a Lithuanian accent, but also? He had this air of loneliness about him that seemed to reinforce the whole solitary gunslinger look to a tee.”_ _ _

___“Yeah.” Will stroked his thumb across Hannibal’s sweet, sad face on the screen, wishing that even in photographic form he didn’t have the power to make Will’s knees weak and his heart hurt. “I can see that.”_ _ _

___“He hasn’t been lonely like that anymore since he met you,” Bella proclaimed. “Whatever else happens, just keep that in mind. Especially whenever you use the term 'thoroughly temporary' to describe yourself."___

___Will laughed shakily. He couldn't get anything past Bella. "Thoroughly temporary" might have sounded like a way to describe his relationship with Hannibal to most people, but she noticed which half of the relationship Will habitually considered disposable. He didn't think he was good, special or important enough to keep anyone in love with him for the long term. He couldn't even decide what was more embarrassing, being this sort of loser, or seeing it about himself and having to be conscious of it on a moment-to-moment basis._ _ _

___"Oh!" Bella resumed, the subject change away from her illness making her more upbeat by the second, a much-needed respite from despair. Her cheerful tone cut through his own melancholy with the last thing he expected her to say: "And by the way, what exactly is your go-to karaoke anthem?”_ _ _

___“Huh?” Will asked, handing back the phone although Hannibal’s image still lingered in his mind’s eye, interfering with the desperate need to stop loving him so damn much._ _ _

___“The wrap party on Sunday,” Bella clarified, her tone chipper although her features were still wan, like a painting which had been slightly washed out in excessive sunlight. “It’s karaoke and open mic, and we’re having enchiladas!”_ _ _

___She bumped Will’s shoulder, and Will put an arm around her in an anchoring effort, worried that his friend was about to topple over. There was no way to exert further influence to try and get Bella back to her doctor. Will knew from experience that getting nosy and aggressive with someone half-bent on self-destruction was never the solution, no matter how much you wanted to save them._ _ _

"I'm not much of a singer," he admitted.

"Well, I'm planning on my usual Spice Girls renditions," Bella informed him coyly. "You'll think of something, you have time to decide."

"Time to find the best place in the restaurant to hide from the karaoke stage," Will snorted, causing Bella to laugh. When her laugh turned into a cough, she sipped her water again.

___“Are you okay to keep filming today, or do you think you should maybe be resting?” Will asked carefully._ _ _

___“I have to keep working; stopping that would be the one thing that really would kill me,” Bella insisted. Her hand on Will’s shoulder was still trembling, as was her smile. “You know, it’s the funniest thing, I love the feeling of spiraling, hurtling without a safety net, and Jack is the complete opposite of that, like he’s standing there trying to catch me. But I love the way he feels, too.”_ _ _

___With a reassuring smile and a small shiver of premonition, Will couldn’t help thinking that Bella’s fate would be decided by her ability to choose which feeling she loved the most._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: What Hannibal and Bedelia were talking about! And more complications unravel in the wake of her return.
> 
> Thanks to all for reading! ❤️❤️❤️


	12. Chapter 12

The moment he let go of Will’s hand, Hannibal knew it was the wrong thing to do. And that surprised him.

He had been a little worried in the back of his mind, the more he started to fall head over heels for this astonishing man he’d been lucky enough to meet, his prince, his Will. He had feared that when he saw Bedelia again, she would still have power to tear him away from the happiness he had found. It might seem preposterous that his ex would be spiteful enough to exert the power now just for her own amusement when she had no use for him anymore, but she could be cruel. Such conduct on her part would hardly be surprising. He didn’t want the conflict, didn’t want to face her, or to have to feel guilty and caught out for coming face-to-face with his spouse of ten years while he was holding hands with someone new.

So that’s why it was surprising that he let go of Will’s hand only because he was startled to see his ex, not because he felt guilty or regretful or was trying to cover something up. Surprising that he could look at Bedelia now and fail to understand how she used to twist him up inside and use him, use his love and his body and his devotion, meddle in his mind with such habitual ease. He didn’t see the appeal of that life anymore, no matter how lovely she was with her porcelain complexion and the hungry wit in her eyes, the elegance of her every gesture and carefully composed micro-expression.

It was being away from Bedelia after she’d definitively hung him out to dry for the last time which had allowed Hannibal to break free from the trance of devotion she used to produce in him. He was fairly certain that experiencing the fullness of mutual affection with Will had finished the job. Throughout their marriage, he had often gone through long periods of time away from Bedelia due to their filming schedules, but he’d never cured himself from the absurd tendency to need the tiny scraps of love she tossed at him upon their reunion. 

Since the break-up, he had exed her out in his mind, finally, until -- after over a decade of fighting to keep her interest -- her name now sat there in his thoughts with a line crossed through it, saying, _“you’re just someone who hurt me and treated me badly and threw me away like garbage. So I don’t need you anymore.”_

Now he felt strong, as if he was becoming a better person away from Bedelia and she could never wound him again the way she used to do with unrepentant vigor. As a gush of relief flooded him with this knowledge, he reached out for Wills’s hand, but it wasn’t there.

He was gone.

“Where…?” Hannibal blinked in momentary bewilderment as Bedelia came at him with the measured predatory gait of a leopard.

She wrapped her thin, cool arms around him and pressed a kiss to his ear. “Hi, baby,” she breathed, rubbing his back like he needed soothing.

Baby? What was she on about?

Hannibal gently disengaged himself from the embrace and held her away from him by the elbows. 

“Hello, Bedelia. What brings you here a week early?” He let go of her and backed up, watching a tiny display of irritation flicker across her face before she covered it back up with placid happiness to see him.

“Well, I’ve brought Abigail,” she laughed as if this was obvious. “She’s here now, waiting in your trailer. I’ve been here waiting for you because I wanted to see how you were doing; I’ve missed you.” 

“I see.” Hannibal’s voice was an alien thing, disembodied. He tugged at his necktie and frowned. This was not the reaction which Bedelia had anticipated, he was sure, but at the moment he really didn’t give a damn.

Behind them, Jack, Bella and Alana had walked away, still talking together as if in a mutually agreed-upon pact to give the exes space to reunite. He didn’t want it; in fact, he’d much rather be in a crowd with Bedelia than left alone with her as if they were still a couple. He looked all around, wondering where Will was and hoping he hadn’t hurt his lover’s feelings by letting his hand go like that.

“How’s James?” Hannibal inquired, asking after the co-star who had been so incredibly beguiling that Bedelia had been compelled to confess her lust about it to her husband. Regaining his composure a little better, Hannibal crossed his arms and gave her a mild but accusatory look.

 _You hypocrite_ , he thought. _What in the hell do you want from me?_

“Hannibal, _James_ doesn’t mean anything at all, and he never did.” Bedelia gave a saintly sigh. “It was all just curiosity, and I wanted to be able to share my truth with you. I didn’t want to lie to you about wanting his body, can’t you understand that? It would have made me feel so wretched, that deceit.”

“Isn’t it nice not to be weighed down by that anymore?” Hannibal asked, a sarcastic twinkle in his eyes. He started to walk away, but she trailed him insistently.

“No, it’s not. You’re the only one I ever loved, Hannibal, and you know it. I’ve told you innumerable times, but you still get so excessively jealous. I’m a human being with natural urges, and the ability to be attracted to more than one person at the same time, and I don’t think I should have to be ashamed of that.” She followed him outside, where he turned to face her in consternation, whipping off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves. 

He was getting angrier, and it was making the heat and the confining wardrobe too annoying. It felt as if he was suffocating, away from Will and imposed upon by the very same attention from Bedelia which he used to seek like a wastrel upon a moor.

“Then don’t be ashamed. Go ahead and recruit your own wonderful harem for all that I care, Bedelia. We’re separated and I’m going through with the paperwork; soon we will be divorced, and so aside from being your co-parent and wanting to work with you amicably to give Abigail the best life she can have, there is nothing more I wish to discuss with you. We have different definitions of love, and that’s why it could never work.”

“Love is just love,” she argued. “If we love each other, we can get through all the rest of it, including some shallow, meaningless infatuation such as I shared with James. You’ll observe I’ve been patient enough not to immediately ask you who that young man is. After all, you were holding hands.”

“He is none of your business,” Hannibal snapped. “And I am none of your business as well. You don’t have the right to arrive unannounced and start interfering in my life, wanting to know all about me, making assumptions, when you wanted _out_ of my life, remember?”

“No, I thought--” she sighed. “I just thought if we separated, it would give us both a long enough break to get whatever we needed to out of our systems and come back together stronger than ever.”

 _Well, it appears I’ve gotten_ you _out of my system._ The thought was too mean-spirited to say out loud, but it echoed through his mind with acid self-righteousness. He was sick and tired of her selfish games.

“No thank you,” he replied instead, with barely contained animosity. 

She stared at him in total shock. “But for Abigail’s sake, don’t you think we should at least try and be good friends? I know that I hurt you, and believe it or not you hurt me, too, because I could never live up to your lofty expectations of me, but...I’m willing to try and be friends, if you are.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. On this one topic, she was right. This was no time for adolescent tantrums, even if he had anger pent up inside him like this; it was his fault alone that he had chosen, over the years, to smother his frustration with complacency at her neglectful and manipulative ways. Arguing with her now would only serve to hurt Abigail; they had to be a united front, had to show their daughter that they cared about her too much to be adversaries.

“We still need to tell Abigail,” Hannibal acknowledged, his expression softening.

“Of course. I do sense that she’s expecting this news. Abigail is nothing if not brilliantly perceptive.”

“We can do it today,” he agreed, nodding resolutely. He stretched his hand out to Bedelia as he added, “And I’m willing to find a peaceful way forward. Friends?”

“Friends,” she smiled as they shook hands, a smile wavering with regret, her eyes shining with the sadness of a martyr. He wondered if she thought he was really going to fall for those same tricks all over again.

***

When Hannibal arrived at his trailer to greet Abigail, he stopped dead in his tracks, his blood going cold as he saw her standing outside talking animatedly with none other than Freddie Lounds.

Just one moment of total shock was all it took for Hannibal to register that this had actually happened before he strode forward quickly, saying with a loving and firm warning, “Abigail.”

His daughter blinked at him in confused anger. She looked as surprised by whatever Freddie had been telling her, as if someone had slapped her face. Her lovely cerulean eyes were red-rimmed and moist, and the flush in her pale cheeks looked like an equal blend of anger and sadness.

“Dad, is it true you and Mom are splitting up, and that you’ve been having an affair with some _screenwriter_?”

He could have wrung Freddie’s neck on the spot. 

“No, that is — yes, your mother and I are separating, although we both wished to inform you of it ourselves.” He looked at Abigail with all of the calm affection he could summon in the midst of his panic, but snuck a deadly glare at Freddie, too.

“How dare you speak to my daughter?” He asked the red-haired reporter, who smirked at him. “While I can't fathom how you've snuck in and evaded the security measures on this set, your actions now are an even greater, more vulgar violation, Ms. Lounds, unforgivable even by your normally corrupt standards.”

Freddie crossed her arms. She wore a bright red dress with black gloves, the latter most likely a helpful impairment to leaving any fingerprints behind during her various snooping campaigns. Her red ringlets hung around her ruthless face; it was uncanny how innocent her small features were when she was so entirely conniving.

“I just thought Abigail deserved to know the truth.” Freddie’s tone, as Phil had noted, was jarring, mainly for its complete absence of moral concern or empathy. The statement which she had intended to sound righteous merely came out as a verbal sneer.

“I agree. I have every right to know what’s really going on with my own family,” said Abigail irritably, and of course any teenager worthy of being called one would have said the same.

“This woman is a vicious tabloid reporter who loves nothing more than riddling the truth with loathsome falsehoods,” Hannibal insisted. “She glories in the lives ruined along the way to her profitable headlines. Please, Abigail, do not allow yourself to be caught in her despicable web of lies.”

“So you’re _not_ dating this stranger, this...Will Graham?” Abigail asked, too irate to come down from her impassioned revulsion.

“I have no intentions of discussing anything with you until Ms. Lounds kindly removes herself,” Hannibal almost hissed in Freddie’s direction.

“If you don’t have the guts to be forthright with Abigail, she’ll find out the details along with the rest of the world,” Freddie smiled broadly, unfazed. “When my article is published. It’s too big for _Tattle-Celeb_. I’ve got _Us Weekly_ on the line.”

Hannibal’s jaw tightened. “Abigail, go into the trailer and wait for me. Not another word; I’ll discuss this with you momentarily.”

Abigail groaned in angry frustration but obeyed her father. When the door slammed behind her, Hannibal turned on Freddie with a snarl. 

“In another life, I would kill you for this,” he muttered, only making her reptilian smile grow. 

“Are you threatening me?” The prospect seemed to delight her.

Hannibal reached easily into the black leather purse hanging from her arm, drew out her cell phone which was currently recording their conversation, and tossed it to the ground.

“You can’t _do_ that,” she fumed, poison-blue eyes flashing. That did it: she was finally bothered.

Hannibal crushed the phone under his heel and continued authoritatively, “If you don’t want to meet the same fate, stay away from my daughter. Stay away from Will Graham, do not so much as think of their names.”

“So defensive of dear Will. If only either of you two lovebirds had been quite so concerned about your children, not to mention your reputations. Enjoy being the noble leading man while it lasts, Hannibal. Your threats are empty. You’re all talk. I’ve got something to say and the world deserves the truth. Your nice guy cover will be blown within 48 hours.”

Freddie flounced off, leaving the broken fragments of her phone behind as if to confirm Hannibal had accomplished nothing by smashing it. He would do all he could to prevent this dreadful article from seeing the light of day. But what if he was powerless to defend anyone from the mess that was to come from Freddie’s article of heavily embellished bombshells? What if all he could do in the meantime was to protect his loved ones before the bombs started falling?

***

Will couldn’t believe it. It was 3am and Hannibal hadn’t even sent one text to let him know what was going on. Now there was a knock at the side door. Once again, Hannibal had just _shown up_ unannounced as if that was remotely normal.

Sure, it wasn’t like Will had been sleeping, but that wasn’t the _point._

Will yanked the door open and glared at him through tear-reddened eyes, standing barefoot in one of the actor’s shirts and his own grey underwear, hair a bedraggled mess and cheeks still soaked. Hannibal stared at him in immediate guilt and astonishment and Will felt like slapping him across the face. 

Well, not too hard, though. He was still so fucking pretty, tawny hair sliding down over his brow, whiskey eyes glistening with deep emotion, as if the heavens had gone absolutely ballistic with every standard of beauty in designing him, splashing every gorgeous shade of warm brown, blonde, golden and silver to--

_Hey! No. Focus._

“You never texted,” Will blurted. “Your _wife_ came to visit and you dropped me just like that; did you forget I existed until now and then you figured, ‘well, I’ll at least go break up with him in person’? Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t want to do the break-up scene, okay? Just ghost me like everyone else.” 

He was relieved, anyway, that the kids were at Frederick’s tonight and he didn’t have to worry about being a total mess or potentially raising his voice. 

“Stop that,” Hannibal commanded sternly. “Stop comparing me with everyone else you’ve been with and expecting me to behave as they did. I couldn’t forget about you unless I forgot about myself.” 

Will swallowed, distracted by the slight discipline in Hannibal’s tone and the fact that he liked it. It calmed him down a little, too. 

“I’ve been sitting here watching old episodes of _Blood Law_ and crying."

___“Will,” Hannibal murmured, his fingers rising slightly as if to wipe the tears from the younger man’s face, but Will shook his head._ _ _

__

__“Crying over you, Hannibal.”_ _

__“I know. I’m sorry.”_ _

__“What happened, then? Broken phone? Lost phone? Lost _mind_?” Will asked impatiently. _ _

__If Hannibal was going to be apologetic, adorable and real, Will could only try harder to be harsh, back to his walls of self-protection._ _

__“It’s been, reductively speaking, a long day,” Hannibal sighed. “Bedelia and I had a great deal to talk about -- now, don’t look at me that way, Will. You know perfectly well the marriage is over.”_ _

__Will bristled. “Do I?”_ _

__“God forbid you let me inside so we can have an actual conversation,” the actor replied in frustration, which as far as Will was concerned, he had yet to earn._ _

__“You’re unbelievable. You show up here at 3 o’clock in the morning, and expect -- you know who knocks at people’s doors at 3am, Hannibal, serial killers, that’s who.”_ _

__“Serial killers knock on doors?”_ _

__“Shut up. So, you and Bedelia had a lot to talk about. What’s her deal? She hug-threatened me, by the way.”_ _

__“Hug...threatened?”_ _

__“Just explain yourself already, I’m watching the season two finale and I’d really like to get back to wallowing.”_ _

__“Well, the deal is that even though I don’t particularly feel like seeing or interacting with Bedelia, we still have to work out the terms of our divorce in a peaceful way; we still have to come to a place of being able to co-parent productively and in a loving manner for Abigail’s best interest. And today, we had to talk with our daughter about what is happening. Even though she saw it coming, it was still very hard.” He looked emotionally wrung out now that Will let himself examine his lover’s features more closely._ _

__“Abigail is so upset. And I feel helpless because I almost wish I could make it work with Bedelia for her sake, but I can’t go back to that life and Bedelia will never change.”_ _

__“I’m sorry,” Will said finally, spirits even more deflated as he realized how inappropriate his loss of temper and defensive behavior had been. “Really, I’m sorry. Where is Abigail now?”_ _

__“With Bedelia, she’s staying at a hotel in Baltimore for a week while we finish filming. It will give us time to sort out the details and for Abigail to have both of us with her.”_ _

__Will took his hand and led him inside, closing the door behind them and wrapping him in a hug in the dark kitchen. “I’m sorry I bit your head off. With all that you’re going through,” he murmured into his chest. “That was selfish.”_ _

__“I should have called or texted you,” Hannibal sighed, holding Will like a life preserver, inhaling his scent as if the younger man’s presence was his only stability._ _

__Will tipped his head back to look at Hannibal as big hands settled at the small of his back. “You give Abigail all the security she needs by loving her.”_ _

__“Can’t I give that to you, too?” he asked, cupping Will’s face in his larger hands so that Will felt positively tiny, laid low by the immensity of the actor’s effect on him._ _

__“Don’t,” Will pleaded, “Please don’t say the words.”_ _

__“I already have,” he smiled, running his fingers through soft brown locks._ _

__“Not in English. I can’t take it, Hannibal. Not tonight, maybe not ever. You know what this is, so please don’t call it something it’s not.”_ _

__“What is this?” he asked with a vulnerably soft chuckle, caught between wonderment and sadness. “Our Something.”_ _

__Will nodded at the photo of them on his fridge, the one from their day at the beach when they built an epic sandcastle and had some random kid take their picture standing proudly beside it. Arms gleefully outstretched, looking at each other like infatuated fools; Will loved that stupid picture._ _

“We’re a sandcastle,” he shrugged, unable to look into Hannibal’s eyes. “We’re beautiful but temporary; the tide will wash us away in time and that’s okay, but I don’t want to pretend it’s anything else. I feel like you’re too good at pretending, partly because it’s your day job and partly because you really don’t want to deal with reality sometimes, so you idealize it. You idealize _me_ , and I’m the last person who--" 

___“You think I don’t see you clearly, that I’m idealizing you because I call you my prince? Do you think that means I don’t see how brilliant you are, how strong, how kind?”_ _ _

___“I think it means that you fetishize the parts of me that attract you and gloss over my flaws, because you believe that fairy tales are real, and they’re _not_. This Cinderella thing, it’s just a fantasy, Hannibal. Movie stars don’t end up with cash-strapped, career-stalled single dads with calendars of them on their walls.”_ _ _

___“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hannibal said, brushing a warm kiss to his mouth. “I see you clearly, Will. It is possible, very possible, for someone to see the truth of you and still fall. Why don't you allow me to me take care of you, and let go of the superficial concerns causing you such unnecessary anxiety?”_ _ _

___“Superficial concerns,” Will tsked, “Like my responsibilities, my autonomy, my ability to respect my life and know I established it with my own hard work, not handouts from my rich boyfriend.”_ _ _

___“I like it when you call me your boyfriend,” Hannibal sighed, grabbing Will by the waist and hoisting him onto the counter, lavishing him in more kisses, all over his lips, face and neck, until Will’s fingers twisted in the older man’s t-shirt._ _ _

___Distantly, Will realized they had on matching shirts, crisp, luxury designer white button-ups in size Medium, of which Hannibal seemed to own dozens. That they had the same shirt on was cute; they were nauseatingly cute and Will should hate it, but instead he was here asking for more of Hannibal’s nonsense, like it was the air he needed to keep breathing...almost as if it wasn’t nonsense at all. It felt almost like the intensely compatible kinks and desires between them were part of a real love, the special, “happily ever after” kind that simply didn’t exist._ _ _

___“Tell me again how you want to take care of me,” Will whispered, leaning up to lick his ear and nip at the soft lobe. He just wanted another hit of his favorite drug, their increasingly foolish dream._ _ _

___“I’ll buy your house,” Hannibal offered, spreading Will’s lips with his thumb, fire igniting in his eyes because it aroused him just as deeply to say this as it did for Will to hear it. “You’d never have to make another mortgage payment. I’ll give you the deed.”_ _ _

___Will spread his thighs and moaned as Hannibal pressed close between them, his hard-on under neat grey slacks grazing Will’s scant briefs._ _ _

___“I’ll set up a bank account and you can use it however you like...pay your bills, pay your fathers back, buy whatever you like...and I’ll buy you many things that I think you’ll like. I’d like to give you a gift every single day. You can write to your heart’s content, and just relax, enjoy your life.”_ _ _

___He ran his fingertips back and forth over Will’s thighs, touching their foreheads together. His words tasted of peppermint and his body smelled like cedar and spice, plus something substantial, male, solid, and warm that was just _Hannibal_._ _ _

___“I’d buy you so many suits…” He stroked Will’s cock slowly, feeling the dampness of precum that soon dotted the front of the younger man’s underwear as both their breath caught. Kissing Will’s cheek with that same gradual, teasing attention, he sighed, “You should have negligee...and cozy pajamas. Jewelry, such as royalty ought to wear. Cosplay outfits. Knee socks...oh, and let’s not forget thigh high stockings.”_ _ _

___Will batted at him weakly and he laughed, the smiles fading from their faces as Hannibal put his hand down Will’s briefs and wrapped warmly around his cock. “I want to take you to every overpriced luxury restaurant and feed you their most indulgent dishes, just to watch the look on your face as you take the food from me and taste it knowing that you are my prince and I will spoil you as much as I like. Which is to quite an extreme.”_ _ _

___Will gasped and pulled at his shirt sloppily until Hannibal took it off of him, then slid Will’s briefs to the floor as the writer reached eagerly for the buttons on the older man’s trousers. Hannibal carried him to the table and laid him down on his back, then deftly undressed himself as Will waited with trembling anticipation._ _ _

___He slicked Will up well with coconut oil and fingered him open, ignoring the demands of his rigidly aching cock which wanted Will badly enough to twitch untouched. He loved the way Will felt, slippery and tight, warm and perfect inside, and how Will sounded, softly pleading._ _ _

___“Mylimasis,” he gasped, pumping his hand faster and harder. Will held his legs back and moaned, hardly believing his own shamelessness, but needing Hannibal too much to care._ _ _

___When Hannibal was certain Will was ready, he took his hard length in hand and teased Will’s entrance with the tip._ _ _

___“What do you say?” Hannibal asked huskily._ _ _

___“You can’t do all of those things for me, buy my house, pay for my life, drown me in presents,” Will said as his voice went thick and hazy, his body completely pliant. “But you can be here with me now.”_ _ _

___“You won’t let me take care of you,” Hannibal observed with a knowing, erotic pout, “But you’ll let me take care of this for you, won’t you baby?”_ _ _

___“Yes,” Will pleaded as Hannibal pushed inside, grabbing his ass tightly, tilting Will’s body for just the right angle as he penetrated with a rough insistence made easy by how slippery and relaxed he had rendered his lover. “Please, please, Daddy…”_ _ _

___“Such a good boy, baby,” he soothed, groaning as he began to pump into Will with all the patience he could summon, possessively palming the younger man’s ass, squeezing as every thrust ignited electric bliss between them._ _ _

___Will let Hannibal wash over him like a tidal wave, drowning out all common sense and fear of losing him, fear of loving him this much in the first place, and he even took in his lover’s words, hectic and hoarse and only partially cryptic, unable to resist their precious lure, the velvety seduction of his deep, throaty voice mouthing impossibilities, hypnotizing Will._ _ _

___“Mano princas, aš tave myliu, noriu tavęs, leisk man niekada tavęs nepalikti ... visada būk mano…”_ _ _

___Hannibal came into Will with a ragged cry, then lifted Will’s legs over his shoulders and kept thrusting through his orgasm, swearing in multiple languages at the oversensitive, yet irresistible _too much_ of it. He bit Will’s calf as the younger man clenched around him and Will’s whole world went bright white, utterly still, a shock of rapture spreading out from his bursting cock, spilling in thick white ropes all over his stomach, pleasure spreading all the way to his fingertips, coursing through every nerve in his body. _ _ _

___“Daddy,” Will whimpered, his eyes rolling up in his head, his body quivering with the need for comfort, a way to accept this amount of pleasure into himself as something he deserved. “Oh, God...I…”___

_____ _

____

_Love you, love you, just say it. Tell him, while you still can._

___Will bit his lip._ _ _

___Hannibal was still riled up, overtaken by some passionate overabundance of need that caught Will’s curiosity; he was always, always intense when they made love, but this was more. This was fear, anger, possessiveness and _insistence,_ taken out on Will and soothed by Will, but not all of it caused by him._ _ _

___He held Will fiercely, sucking the skin he’d bitten on his neck, then claiming eager lips again, tracing them hungrily with his tongue, plunging inside Will’s mouth as writer opened for him so easily, meeting his passion with all he had left to give. After a softer, soulful kiss, Hannibal smiled and the smile seemed tumultuous._ _ _

___“Hannibal,” Will smiled, eyes wide and shining with tears in the soft, faint glow of the microwave light, and it didn’t seem awkward or even unusual, the two of them cuddled up tightly, trembling in post-orgasmic bliss, Will perched sloppily on the table and both of them sticky. It felt just right, the way it should be._ _ _

___“What is it?” Hannibal asked, still panting a bit, but he leaned in to kiss each of Will’s wet eyes as he closed them to accept this comfort, finally to admit he needed it._ _ _

___Hannibal needed to spoil him, and Will craved it, even if he never let the older man go through with it to the full extent, even if Will never opened up his whole heart when Hannibal asked such a question after what they just did._ _ _

___Will caressed his face, tracing over the elegant rise of his cheekbones, then the lovely shape of his full lips, which he knew must be tingling like his own, kiss-swollen and never more tempting. Hannibal kissed his finger and Will slid it inside to press down on his lower lip, then feel over the sharp tips of his incisors, the adorable, slightly crooked bumps of his less lethal-looking teeth, loving all of his unique nuances. This man was the only one who could make Will whole, and he just wanted to feel it over and over until there was nothing else left to feel._ _ _

___Playfully, Hannibal nipped the pad of his finger and Will groped his ass, squeezing the firm skin and muscle there before leaning in to kiss his chest; by now Hannibal was sucking Will’s finger, massaging his hand and wrist as a quick glance down showed Will they were getting hard again. He pressed his lips into the warm skin beneath the dusting of silvery hair on his lover’s chest, then flicked his tongue over a peaked nipple. Then Hannibal lost control and carried Will into the living room, where he fucked him hard and deep on the floor until neither of them could move._ _ _

_____ _

__***_ _

____

__“There’s another problem I have to tell you about,” Hannibal admitted as they lay spent on the living room rug, blankets haphazardly tossed over their naked bodies. It was dark, just the light spilling in from the kitchen to illuminate the actor’s solemn expression._ _

__Will drew himself up on an elbow and propped his face in his hand, drawing slow circles on Hannibal’s chest. The older man massaged his back and their legs were wonderfully intertwined, Will’s resting over Hannibal’s, enough of a gesture to wordlessly assert his own tendency towards possessiveness._ _

__“I knew there was something else weighing on you,” he admitted, tracing a heart-shape over the space in Hannibal’s chest where he could feel the steady beat getting faster with worry. “I could feel it.”_ _

__“Freddie Lounds is writing an article about you and me,” Hannibal confided. “Today, when Bedelia and I sat down to speak with our daughter about the divorce, we found Abigail more out of sorts than she should be. The problem is that Ms. Lounds has filled her head with all the most exaggerated tales of our illicit trysts and how I’ve been unfaithful to Bedelia, to the extent Abigail never had the chance to adjust to the news of our split before she was led to understand I had moved on and mistreated her mother in the process.”_ _

__“Shit, this is what we were afraid of. That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.” Will frowned and shook his head. “There aren’t even words. I never meant to cause you so much trouble, or to hurt Abigail. It’s the last thing I--”_ _

__“You haven’t done either of those things, Will. It’s Ms. Lounds who has leapt upon the innocent and sincere affection we feel for each other and distorted it to sell to the highest bidder. We are a commodity because of my fame, and if anyone’s to blame for that aside from Freddie Lounds, it is me. How many times did you warn me, even try to push me away from you so that I could avoid this very fate?” Hannibal sighed and caressed Will’s face, coasting his fingers over the younger man’s jawline, down to his collarbone and across his shoulder._ _

__“You’re right, it’s Freddie’s fault. Blaming ourselves won’t solve anything.” Will fretted all the same, sitting up and fidgeting. “What can we do? What does Jack say?”_ _

__“This is my problem to solve,” Hannibal reminded him, sitting up behind Will and kissing his shoulder._ _

__“Our problem,” Will murmured. There was no separate Will and Hannibal anymore; it was the two of them now, and he thought that even when many miles and the impending necessity of their future break-up tore them apart, he would still feel Hannibal’s presence like a phantom limb, an echo of his lover’s voice following wherever he went. “I’ll do anything to help you, just let me know.”_ _

__“Very well then,” Hannibal said with a sad smile. “Jack and I worked the problem all evening, which is why I arrived here so late. There is nothing we can do to suppress the article, and I’m not even certain I’ll have legal recourse afterwards. To prove definitively that Ms. Lounds distorted the truth will be nearly impossible.”_ _

__“She always uses a kernel of truth, then blows it ridiculously out of proportion, but because the root of the story has veracity to it…” Will trailed off in frustration._ _

__“Yes, it’s been terribly difficult for anyone to pin a lawsuit on her, despite her long history of disreputable machinations. I’m afraid we simply have to wait for the article, and then handle the consequences as they arrive.”_ _

__“Maybe it won’t be too brutal,” Will hoped, lacing his fingers through Hannibal’s atop the soft blanket. “I mean, all we did was get together when you were separated, and we were low-key about it, we haven’t done anything crazy at all. How bad can this article really be?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Hannibal said to Will: “My prince, I love you, I want you, let me never leave you ... always be mine”
> 
> Problem-solving is so hard when you can't just kill and eat your enemies 😤 Next time: the article and its aftermath! 🙈


	13. Chapter 13

“Hello?” Will asked, his voice sleep muffled as he slipped the phone under his ear, barely awake at 6am.

The buzzing of his phone on the bedside table had roused him from a sweet dream of dancing the night away with Hannibal in a big seaside mansion somewhere while fireworks burst overhead. There was no ceiling for some reason, as if they were safe with bright explosions above them emphasizing the crazy jazz beat of the song, neon green and pink notes splattering like paint in the sky. In this vision, Will was an amazing dancer, so even in the midst of it he knew it was a dream, but that didn’t matter. Rory and Rose were galloping all around them, scattering rose petals on the floor, which was a smooth marble rendition of the same pattern as his living room rug. “Congratulations!” the kids giggled, and Hannibal grinned proudly, keeping Will in his warm guiding grip while they moved expertly to the music. 

“Abigail will be joining us soon,” Hannibal enthused, and only at that moment did Will’s brow pinch slightly. 

_She still wants to meet me? Didn’t I ruin…_

And that’s when the phone vibrated and woke him up, his hand shooting out to grab it before it shuddered its way to the floor with a smack, as happened on a fair share of early mornings. 

“I wanted to get to you before you heard about this from someone else,” Beverly blurted.

Will sat up, glancing over to Rose, who slept soundly, curled up like a kitten in the middle of the bed. As usual, she’d nearly sleep-walked in while Will dozed and took up her place. Rory was still asleep in their room across the hall, more a night owl than Rose, but once he was out, good luck getting him to wake up again. Hannibal was probably up by now and getting ready to head over to the set, making coffee in his lonely enormous borrowed pop star house, and Beverly was saying something, apparently, about an emergency.

“Nobody died, nobody’s sick, everyone is okay, don’t worry,” Beverly fretted. “God, I really suck at being the bearer of bad, but not severely bad, news.”

“You sound nervous,” Will murmured, smoothing a blanket over Rose’s legs. If he kept his voice down, she wouldn’t wake just yet. “You never sound nervous. What’s--”

Suddenly, he was awake, lurching for the lamp, clicking it on, mumbling in terror, “Oh, holy shit, the article.” Ice water splashed over the warm, sprightly contentment and only low-level murmur of worry from his dream, over the quiet of his room and Rose’s peaceful, adorable slumber.

“Yeah. I just wanted to warn you, Freddie really went for your throat, Hannibal’s too. What a heinous bitch. I’d like to give her a piece of my mind; I’m cancelling my subscription to _Us Weekly,_ I can tell you that much. _And_ I’ll let them know this is the exact reason. How completely disgusting of them to enable her like this--”

“Beverly.” Will put a hand to his brow to find it clammy. He was melting down, though, trembling with anxiety, his heart clutched tight behind ribs that seemed like they ought to be rattling in fear. 

“Sorry, Will. I’ll stop babbling. Listen, I’m coming over. We’ll get the kids occupied with something and have a look at this article together. I don’t want you reading it alone.”

“Thanks, Bev, you’re the best,” he said, or tried to say; marbles seemed to be rolling around in his mouth, making it hard to form coherent words. 

“None of your real friends would ever believe a word of it, okay?” Beverly was so peeved, Will knew the article must be beyond malicious. "Just believe that, know it."

“Sure,” Will sighed, brushing a curl back from Rose’s face, “I’ll see you soon.”

Maybe if he kept reassuring everyone else, he would be able to control his own panic. Because he hadn’t even read the damn article yet, but he knew there would be no “fixing” a public outing of his relationship with Hannibal, not if Freddie had done her very worst.

 _I haven’t read it yet, have you?_ He texted quickly to Hannibal.

It didn’t surprise him when his lover did not reply right away. Hannibal was incredibly devoted to his schedule on work mornings; he always sent a “Good morning” text to Will, but that came at 5, meaning he must have got in a workout before a shower and breakfast, and it was unlikely he would check his phone again before his first break during the work day.

***

Hannibal didn’t think much of the extra loud shouting of the paparazzi outside the gates of Georgia’s estate as he left for work that morning, except to note that they certainly got up early enough just to gawk at the newly single father trying to go about his day. 

“Hey, Hannibal, how’s the new relationship going?” A paparazzo yelled once the actor had opened the gates with his keycard, then waited for the system to lock behind him before making a quick departure, expertly driving around the throngs of camera-waving opportunists.

Well, they’d been talking about him having a new relationship, or Bedelia having one, since the news of their split broke. He did not immediately assume the article had come out that day.

He did not care to assume it. There was work to be done; he must arrive on set in a timely fashion and continue with today’s scene. He would have lunch with Abigail later, and there was simply no time to waste on any more of Freddie’s vicious agenda. In the pocket of his blue plaid suit, his phone was set to silent.

***

The kids ran under the sprinkler in the backyard as Will sat with Beverly in the kitchen, watching them through the window. The coffee machine was sputtering away, not much more efficient than the one in the adjunct faculty lounge at BCC; Rose and Rory’s carefree shouts and the nervous thrum of Beverly’s nails on the table. None of it could drown out the screaming panic in Will’s head.

“Fuck,” he groaned, squinting at his phone as if the content of the article would magically become sane or forgivable or anything less than completely horrible, if he just changed the angle he read it at or blurred it a bit. 

The article was topped off by a huge picture of him and Hannibal dirty dancing at Splash, which meant Freddie or one of her minions had been there the whole time, while they thought it was safe enough to at least dance together. And then they just got carried away. Now the image of it, the two of them writhing under blue light, bodies pressed close, Hannibal’s face in Will’s neck, was there for all the world to see. The article only got worse after that.

Beverly patted his shoulder. “You don’t have to read the whole thing.”

Still, like Hannibal’s character in _Overlord,_ idiotically marching towards the guillotine, Will could not seem to stop himself from reading every venomous word.

 **Exclusive! The Devastating Bedannibal Split Caused by Hannibal’s Unfaithful Ways! The Homewrecker Who Destroyed a Marriage of Ten Years in a Bid for His Own Celebrity: Revealed! Bedelia Begs Hannibal, “Please Come Home!”** _Freddie Lounds tells all!_

_For years now, we have regularly welcomed Vampire King Draven into our homes on Tuesday nights in the hit primetime soap Blood Law, probably reassured, despite the character’s wicked ways, that his portrayer Hannibal Lecter could not be more dissimilar in real life. When word spread of his impending divorce from his even more famous wife, Bedelia Du Maurier, most still assumed it came down to just what the couple said: irreconcilable differences. We presumed that a mature and organic “conscious uncoupling” had occurred, and duly hoped that Hannibal and Bedelia would be able to remain friends for their daughter’s sake, and would find love again someday._

_Someday arrived much faster than any of us realized. As Bedelia told US in an exclusive reveal, ‘I simply had no idea Hannibal was capable of such deception, least of all such unfaithfulness. When I first heard about Will Graham, I was simply aghast.’_

_Is the real reason for the divorce Hannibal’s extramarital affair with the screenwriter on his currently shooting romantic comedy _Now That I Found You?_ While Bedelia wouldn’t specify when the affair began, the hurt in her eyes was all-too-evident as she replied, ‘I never anticipated that the title of that film would become so unsettlingly accurate. But Hannibal has indeed found someone new.’_

_But why would the famously upstanding, elegant and mannered family man suddenly abandon his family? Is this a midlife crisis, or something more insidious?_

_**Who is Will Graham?** _

_To learn more about the writer who stole Hannibal’s heart almost as soon as the actor touched down on American soil, I spoke to some of the people in his life. While many would not divulge secrets of the torrid affair, Will’s ex-husband, Baltimore Memorial Hospital Chief of Staff Dr. Frederick Chilton, revealed that manipulative wiles are certainly nothing new to his former spouse._

_‘Will was constantly paranoid about my supposed infidelity throughout our marriage, to the extent I began to wonder if he was doing it to make me too guilty to leave him. Even so, I remain devoted to making it work with him, a fact I’ve made abundantly clear -- yet he couldn’t seem to muster the patience to resolve our issues for the sake of our two small children at the very least, before moving on with a celebrity.’_

_Dr. Chilton also revealed that he had a chance to witness Hannibal and Will’s connection when a bout of encephalitis recently landed the writer in Baltimore Memorial. ‘Hannibal was there visiting, a big bouquet of flowers in hand, every cliche covered,’ Chilton chortled darkly. ‘Honestly, I couldn’t tell if Will was really sick or faking it to get Hannibal’s attention. It sent a chill down my spine. I don’t know how low he would stoop to pin that man down for the money and fame. If he hadn’t met someone wealthier than me, I’m sure he’d still be returning my calls.’_

_Will Graham balances screenplay writing with his duties as a professor at a local community college. US also had the chance to speak with Professor Graham’s co-worker, who wished to remain anonymous. The handsome young married professor confided that Will had a habit, until recently, of incessantly flirting with him. ‘I kept saying no, but he’d be back like a boomerang the next day, and I can’t say it wasn’t tempting. Will is beautiful and brilliant, almost irresistible. He’s an insatiable flirt. I’m not surprised that Hannibal was taken in.’_

_‘He brought that movie star boyfriend of his to our adjunct faculty banquet,’ recalled another fellow professor, who also wished to remain anonymous, although citing himself as a close friend of Bette Midler’s. “And I knew -- we all know, from the magazines, this Hannibal Lecter is still married to that lovely, delicate creature Bedelia Du Maurier. Will always seemed so quiet around here, but you know...weirdly quiet. And I guess you never really know people. But this is absolutely shameless.’_

_**Why Aren’t They Thinking About the Kids?** _

_‘I love my Dad, and I just always thought he was the best guy ever,’ said sixteen year old Abigail Hobbs when interviewed on the set of her father’s film. Tears welled up in her eyes as she described her devoted belief in her adoptive dad’s moral nature, a belief now as tarnished as her parents’ previously golden marriage. ‘How could I have been so wrong? Turns out he’s just as selfish as most other people. I think I just need to take care of my mom now.’_

_As for Mom, she has no intention of moving on anytime soon. ‘I’m still hopeful for a reconciliation between myself and Hannibal,’ she confided to this reporter. ‘This Will Graham has pulled the wool over his eyes, but once his vision clears, he will likely realize how much stronger our marital bond is than the flimsy infatuation of an impulsive affair.’_

**Hannibal and Will: Their Wildly Scandalous Affair in Photos**

There followed a full-page spread of good-quality pictures snapped on many of the dates where Hannibal and Will had thought they evaded the paparazzi: dancing the night of the college banquet (had the pic been snapped by Gerry or Matthew? It was definitely one of them), caught making out at the movie theatre near Wolf Trap by some enterprising fellow audience member, sunbathing on the beach with their fingers barely touching. Stealing a kiss, pressed to the back of Hannibal’s trailer, _dammit,_ it was that Special Effects Coordinator, Will couldn’t remember her name, who kept asking Hannibal every day how Bedelia was. Now that he saw each of the photos, violations of such private and tender moments, he realized how open they had left themselves to discovery, in spite of their best intentions. Blinded by love and Hannibal’s good-natured optimism, they had floated away in this dream, forgetting that opportunists were everywhere and Freddie Lounds would never leave them alone. She had been onto them since the very first time she saw them together at the Blue Slate.

It didn’t help that Hannibal hated having a big entourage and therefore never even travelled with a security team. The low-budget set wasn’t much harder to break into, at the end of the day, than the adjunct faculty dinner. 

The ending of the article was perhaps the most offensive part: 

_As the father of two small children shared with his ex-husband, one would think Will Graham would be far too busy caring for his family to take up with a married superstar. Yet according to Dr. Chilton, ‘Will has tunnel vision when it comes to romantic love. He doesn’t mean to get so carried away, but he does, and we all suffer for it.’_

_‘It sounds as if Will has a beautiful family who want him to come home,’ Bedelia remarked, her silken voice laden with melancholy. ‘I guess that’s one more thing he and Hannibal have in common.’_

Will threw his phone across the room, feeling numb when it smacked loudly against the wall before hitting the floor, unharmed thanks to a heavy-duty cover. 

“Daddy, are you okay?” Rory asked, standing at the screen door staring at his father’s grief and rage-addled expression, Will's face drained of color, his eyes red with barely held-back tears of frustration. 

“I’m fine, honey,” Will sighed, forcing himself to remain calm for the moment. He knew Rory must have come back for his lemonade, so he grabbed it from the counter and handed the cup to his son with a forced smile. “You and Rose just have fun out there.” 

Satisfied, trusting Will enough to shrug it off, Rory ran back to the yard, just in time for Will to ask Beverly in a dead-set tone, “Can you watch the kids for a couple hours?” 

***

Will found Frederick dwindling his work shift away behind the desk in his swanky office at the hospital, finishing up a phone call. 

“I’m sorry, but as I told Ms. Lounds, this is the only interview I’ll be granting on the subject.” 

Will stood in the doorway, glaring at his ex while Frederick listened smugly to whoever was on the other end of the call.

“Well, if you’re going to that particular price point, I just might be persuaded---” Frederick was interrupted by Will roughly pressing down the “hang up” button on his landline phone.

“Will,” he said with the pretense of prim concern, “How are you? You look...out of sorts.”

“How dare you ask me how I am?” Will fumed, glowering down at Frederick, who remained seated, eyes evading the laser glare of his ex-husband’s wrath. 

“At least we’ve finally established what it would take for you to come and see me voluntarily, outside of passing the children off to one another.”

“Oh, shut up, shut the hell up,” Will demanded, his voice low and fierce. “Don’t talk about Rory and Rose like they’re _things,_ do you have any idea how much you could hurt them with this? If someone shows them that article -- they won’t understand, Frederick.”

Frederick patted down his tie. “I must say I share the sentiment, Will. For such a very long time, you were so devoted to making our relationship work, even through hardship--”

“Through _your_ ceaseless cheating,” Will snapped, almost breathing fire by now. 

“And now, after all we shared, you move on so easily and begin treating me like less than an afterthought. Excuse me if I’m quite as wounded as Bedelia--”

Will rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to listen to another word of this nonsense. “I said shut up, Frederick. You know what, don’t, don’t, because I need you to answer one question for me. Just tell me what I ever did to you. One thing I _ever_ did to you that would justify this kind of betrayal on your part. Because as far as I can remember, the only thing I ever did was to love you, even when I shouldn’t have because you treated me horribly. And then when I couldn’t stomach your unfaithfulness and neglect anymore, you had and have the nerve to sit there playing victim.”

Frederick rolled his chair back, stood and crossed the room, seemingly deliberating between potential answers. He cleared his throat, wrung his hands lightly, looked as distraught as someone so cold could ever be. “Will,” he began more softly. “I just--”

The door was flung open again and Hannibal came storming in looking terrifying, his lethal glare landing right on Frederick’s open expression. “Get away from Will, right now,” he demanded of Frederick.

“Oh, Hannibal,” Will sighed, his own defenses down just that easily. His lover, while looking every bit as terribly upset, emotionally drained and on the warpath as he did himself, comforted him instantly, by doing nothing more complicated than coming here most likely to kick Frederick’s ass.

They both forgot about Will’s ex for the moment, exhaling sharply and running to each other. Hannibal hugged him tightly, Will laid his head on the actor’s chest, and Hannibal murmured in an aching, miserable voice, “ _Will._ ”

“Well,” snipped Frederick, “Perhaps you’ve both forgotten, but this is my office. I suggest you take your PDA session elsewhere.”

Hannibal kissed the top of Will’s head. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No you’re not,” Will said exhaustedly. “I’d miss you if you were in jail. Abigail needs you.”

“Couldn’t we hide the body very well?” Hannibal persisted, tired humor failing to permeate his anguished tone. 

“Still standing right here,” Frederick persisted haughtily, crossing his arms.

“I suggest you give us the room, Dr. Chilton. If Will had not been here when I arrived, I assure you this conversation would have been quite different, and much less pleasant for you. Whilst we both know the result of my attacking you right now would merely play into Ms.Louds’ agenda, I’m giving you a verbal IOU. One day, possibly when you least expect it, I will punch you directly in the face.”

“How dare you--” Frederick snarled.

Will made himself draw back from Hannibal, stood side by side with his lover and gave Frederick a wanly indignant look. He wanted to burrow his face into Hannibal’s chest, hide in his lover’s strength and command of the situation, never come back out again. He was so tired of being afraid of everything and resenting himself, resenting Frederick, so very tired.

“As for now,” Hannibal insisted smoothly, a subtly terrifying intensity rumbling under the surface of his self-restraint, “Breathe another word of our relationship to the press, and you’ll find the consequences far less patient and merciful.”

Frederick gulped, apparently resolved to extricate himself from this scene to consider his next choices. “Very well. Just don’t _touch_ anything, and don’t take too long. This is a place of healing.”

***

"How are you even here?" Will croaked, still seeing Hannibal as somewhat of a romantic mirage on certain occasions.

"Someone showed me the article when we broke filming for lunch, and then Alana gave me the rest of the day off. She supports us fully and is just as angry with Ms. Lounds as the rest of our true friends."

Will looked around at the gaudy knick-knacks, framed degrees, and tacky collection of show-off trophies from hospital benefits which covered Frederick’s desktop. All that didn’t leave room for a single photo of the kids. All of Frederick’s selfish, wounded pride over Will moving on didn’t leave room to empathize with the pain he had put his ex-husband through, or remorse for his own unfaithful ways. As ever, it was all about Frederick, as far as Frederick was concerned. Will had married a petulant child; was it any wonder that the idea of one day remarrying filled him with dread? What if he was wrong again when it came to Hannibal, or anyone else he met after Hannibal left, anyone who someday might want to make a family with Will? Look how wrong he had been before. How could he risk letting the kids get attached to a step-parent only to have his own mistakes ruin everything again?

“I can’t be here,” he mumbled as Hannibal looked at him in concern, massaging his shoulder.

“Alright,” said Hannibal softly, “We’ll go--”

“No, I mean I think I’ll throw up if I’m in here another second.” 

Will practically bolted out of Frederick’s office and down three flights of stairs, out through the lobby into an afternoon which had turned rainy. It had all come down on him in that suffocating den of fake caring, “a place of healing.” Maybe it was easy when everytime you couldn’t get your way, you could just blame someone else, as his ex-husband did. But for Will, life just wasn’t that easy and never would be.

“Will,” Hannibal called, exiting the sliding doors of the front entrance, his handsome face etched in worry. “I know it’s a terrible article. But at the end of the day, please remember that it’s only an article. People will forget about it. Most of it isn’t even true, and anyone worth having in our lives will know that.”

Will sighed and looked up, stepped away from the roof cover of the building to let his face take in a warm summer rain baptism, maybe give himself a wake-up call. But he still couldn’t think straight, see past the despair and humiliation of reading those words.

“I know he’s a jerk, I’ve known it for so long now,” he lamented, rain dribbling off his face, “But I didn’t think he’d ever _lie_ like that, all out of some petty, unearned jealousy. It just goes to show that I’ll be paying the rest of my life for marrying him. That’s what divorce is. And Hannibal.” 

He turned to face his lover, finding Hannibal looking remarkably unrepentant for having gotten sullied by the mess of Will’s life.

“Now you’re suffering for it, too. And poor Abigail--” He cried, his tears mixing with the rain. In his impossible vision of their future together, he would have been her stepfather someday, but now she would hate him forever, and he could hardly blame her. He had hurt her before they even met, by dating Hannibal knowing full-well the potential consequence and damage. “I’m so sorry.”

“Will, please.” Hannibal came to him, uncaring of the people around them, coming and going from the hospital doors, mostly brisk in their attempts to escape the rain. 

Hannibal imposed no unasked-for touch on Will when he was so unbearably sensitive and vulnerable, about to fold in on himself. Instead, he pleaded gently, “You’ll catch your death, let’s leave here and find somewhere more comfortable to talk.”

“I don’t deserve to be comfortable; you should just go,” Will insisted. “It’s not even a cold rain. I’m fine.”

“Will, far be it from me to pressure you, but if you truly believe I could walk away and leave you standing in the rain alone outside of your ex-spouse’s workplace with your heart bleeding all over the ground, you don’t know me very well.”

“You’re going to pick me up and carry me to the car, aren’t you?” Will couldn’t help it; a tiny smile, like a ghostly flicker of amusement, quirked one side of his mouth.

“Unless you would prefer to walk.”

***

“I don’t know why you are so insistent on blaming yourself,” Hannibal fretted behind the wheel of the Bentley. “Bedelia has acted just as abominably as Dr. Chilton, Ms. Lounds worst of all. And then there are your co-workers--”

“Matthew. Jesus. I expect this shit from Gerry, but _Matthew._ God, why don’t he and Frederick just form a club for people who are angry they don’t have the chance to fuck with my heart anymore?” Will hung his head and Hannibal wrapped a blanket around him, only for the younger man to recognize it, with a hollow pang of melancholy, as the same one they’d shared at the beach.

“If it was just Bedelia and Freddie, that would be bad enough, but I had to pile on the amount of trouble we’ve caused by having the most despicable people in my life. You know, I can’t get anything right, it’s rather notorious.” He gave a cold chuckle as Hannibal stared at him with a furrowed brow, his debonair silvery locks still slightly dripping with water.

“Are you referring to the fact that your marriage, which you entered with the best of intentions, failed, your college does not pay you enough for the excellent work that you do, and that in the midst of being a wonderful father to your two young children and running a household, you haven’t yet been able to establish a profitable writing career?”

“Stop saying it like that, you know I’ve ruined everything that ever--”

“You won’t ruin this, Will.” A sad smile. “Despite the fact that you seem fairly resolved to believe you must, in case you somehow destroy my life by being a part of it. I suppose it never occurred to you that even if you _did_ render my life a ruin, I’d still thank you for it, and the time we’ve had together. It would still mean everything to me.”

Will gazed at him. “Really?”

“Really,” Hannibal said as his smile, though still weary, warmed and lost some of its sadness. “But you aren’t going to ruin my life, Will. You make me so happy. Even now, there is no place I would rather be.”

Will put his head in his hands, finding a throbbing ache resonating through his temples. It was too hard to believe himself worthy of Hannibal's love, too hard to trust himself again. “You know, every day I think, how much have I already damaged my kids with this divorce. Every time Rory has one of those intense tantrums, I wonder, would he be so distraught, that easily, if I’d managed to make it work with Frederick? There was this day last year, we were at a school event with the kids, Christmas time, and we had to cross a parking lot to get to the car, it was icy. I had one of Rory’s hands, but he needed Frederick to take the other, so he wouldn’t slip, and I had to say Frederick’s name through my teeth three times before he realized he needed to hold his son’s hand. Hold up his end, be _there_. He was distracted that night because he was going hard for the chief of staff job, with stiff competition. I thought to myself, this is it. Rory will never know what it’s like to have two fully competent parents, and we’ll never be a family, hand in hand working together; we’re a shattered mosaic.”

He didn’t mention that two years of therapy had done nothing for his soul-aching depression, his near-constant anxiety and feelings of helplessness. Lost in the wonder of an affair with Hannibal, Will hadn’t even been to see Dr. Leslie in weeks, but he knew if he went back, the same failure would happen. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy was supposed to give you tools to survive, but all of his tools seemed to have blunt edges against his inner demons.

“You’re going to be okay, Will,” Hannibal assured him quietly, the sort of quiet one employs when knowing the slightest touch of aggression would cause a break-down in one’s companion. He offered no more complicated words, but it was what Will needed. The younger man turned into Hannibal’s open arms and allowed himself, finally, to take solace rather than self-punishment.

“I’m here,” Hannibal murmured, stroking his hair. And after a while, when Will could sort of breathe again without guilt crushing his lungs, he added, “Let me take you home, mylimasis.”

***

They got back to Will’s house to find his fathers’ car in the driveway, replacing Beverly’s.

“Oh, man,” Will sighed. “I haven’t talked to my dads about the article yet.”

Inside, Reggie and Robbie were bustling around the kitchen, moving in harmony as they prepared a meal, Reggie rolling out dough on the counter, Robbie dicing veggies. The two chefs looked like they were starring in a new spin-off of _Hell’s Kitchen_ called _Hellishly Tiny Kitchens,_ yet all their years of marriage and experience in cookery made them bob and weave effortlessly around each other. 

Will set his keys on the counter and said, “Hi, Dads,” while Hannibal silently pulled the door shut behind them. 

“Boys, finally,” Robbie sighed, coming forward to give them both a hug. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”

“Came here to see how you were doing after that vile article,” Reggie explained, still kneading the dough a little too aggressively, as if it was his form of stress relief. “Course, first thing we did was stop at the country store, then the gas n’ sip, and tell ‘em to get all the copies of US Weekly off their shelves.”

Will laughed drily, “And did they?”

“You bet they did, when we explained what a pack of lies it was.”

Will sat down at the table with another heaving sigh. “Thank you, Dads.”

“Maybe it doesn’t seem like a lot, just cause there’s only two places in Wolf Trap you can even buy magazines, and we happen to be passingly friendly with the owners…” Robbie trailed off as if he thought they should be able to do more.

“No, it’s a lot,” Will reassured them, “Now there’s no chance of the kids catching sight of it when we run errands. I’ll have to tell Frederick to keep them out of the city stores for seven days -- thank christ it’s US _Weekly._ Someone else’s illicit affair can be the big news next week.” 

Will gulped, wondering if the public and _US_ would have had their fill of his and Hannibal's drama by then. He could only hope and pray.

“I’m immensely grateful to you both,” Hannibal said cautiously. “And apologetic for any stress caused by my prominence in the public eye, and hence Ms Lounds’ crusade to catch me in some reprehensible act.”

“Reprehensible,” said Reggie darkly, pressing perfect corners into the raw crust he was forming, “the only reprehensible behavior is on the part of that so-called reporter, those stalkers taking your photo without permission, and Will’s goddamn asshole of an ex.”

“Shhh,” Robbie warned, “the kids’ll hear.”

“The kids are watching Power Rangers, Rob, they wouldn’t hear a bomb go off right now,” Reggie corrected him, rolling his eyes.

“In that case I’ll mention that I could just about wring Frederick’s scrawny neck right now,” Robbie grumbled.

“I did offer,” Hannibal put in.

“See?” Reggie clapped Hannibal’s shoulder, “I knew you were one of the good ones.”

“So you’re not mad at us?” Will asked, perplexed.

“Mad, honey, no.” Robbie patted Will on the back, then grabbed some mushrooms from the fridge and went back to stress cooking beside his husband. “You’re not thirteen years old caught smoking behind the playground. You’re a grown man whose worst offense here is falling in love with another grown man, both of you single and blameless in this.”

“Thank you so much—“ Will began whole-heartedly, so relieved he hadn’t let them down, that they didn’t think the two of them had been unforgivably reckless. 

“Now do we wish you would keep us in the loop a little more so we didn’t have to find out you’re in a serious relationship from the paparazzi?” Reggie said, looking almost as tired as the newly outed lovers.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.” This was complicated, and hard to explain with Hannibal sitting right there. But Hannibal already knew Will hadn’t told his fathers because he never expected their love to last longer than the end of August.

“It’s okay, son,” Robbie assured him, casting a glance back at Will’s forlorn look and Hannibal’s almost unreadable expression of sadness at Will’s refusal to hope they had what it took to make their love last.

“Your father ought to stop prying about your love life anyway,” Robbie contributed, rather ironically, and under normal circumstances amusingly, as he was normally far more prying than his husband. It seemed as if he felt he had to step into the sensible role, as his regular hot-headed propensity had been taken over by his otherwise level-headed spouse.

It was twistedly funny and undeniably fascinating how people responded to extreme circumstances, Will reflected, ever the keen student of human nature, even if now his instinctually analytic writer’s eye was fogged by total emotional fatigue.

Reggie shrugged, “Just wanna know what’s going on in my own son’s life, for goodness sake, sue me.”

“Any chance we can sue this Freddie Lounds, by the way?” This from Robbie, stirring a pot of sauce on the stovetop.

“Sadly, there does not appear to be an avenue for legal vengeance,” Hannibal lamented, restlessly toying with the salt and pepper shakers, then the napkin dispenser on the table until Will steadied him with a gentle touch of his hand, then threaded their fingers together.

“Damn shame. She has it coming. That ex wife of yours is a piece of work, too, no offense.”

“None taken.”

Reggie asked, “How’s your daughter...Abigail? How’s she holding up?”

“Relatively well all things considered,” Hannibal revealed, “but I’m afraid it’s going to be a journey to earn back her trust. To show her the truth of the matter beyond Ms. Lounds’ distortions.”

Reggie fumed, quietly and in his own way, but he was definitely fuming. Even his apron, with a faded slogan of _Best Flippin’ Dad Ever_ with an image of a spatula, did nothing to detract from his stormy demeanor. “There’s gotta be a way. Has to be something we can do aside from stand around and take this, like we’re confirming this article is true.”

“I’m still considering how I want to broach this with the press,” Hannibal admitted. “In terms of me making a statement...The public will likely already have taken the side of our supposed victims, and anything I say may be classified as sour grapes, merely an attempt to deceive them as to my innocence.”

“It might be time to finally hire a formal publicist,” Will suggested. 

“Jack has said the same, but ultimately it’s too important to me that I speak for myself, not hide behind anyone else.” Hannibal pursed his lips. “It’s been a difficult forty-eight hours for Jack, trying to reason with various press outlets determined to rerun some version of the article. And I had to talk Phil out of quitting; he blames himself for not doing a better job of concealing us on our various outings.”

“That’s ridiculous, Phil always went above and beyond; he’s not even a trained security guard, he’s a driver.” Will shook his head.

“I told him the same, and convinced him to stay on,” Hannibal explained. 

“Well, at the very least I can promise you boys we have some excellent pizza coming up in about...a half hour,” Reggie said, setting the timer on the oven. “And Will, for the love of God tell me there’s beer in the fridge.”

“You bet, Dad, help yourself.”

With a wink, Reggie slid two beers towards them as well, which were immediately opened. Hannibal studied the label of his beer as his lips turned up a little.

Leveraging a small moment of humor, Hannibal remarked quietly and only to Will, as his lover’s parents debated the better choice of craft beers, “I’ve been receiving all manner of impressed comments from Jimmy of late regarding my new fitness regime.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “You have a new fitness regime? When the hell did you have time for that?”

“I haven’t,” Hannibal smirked, “It’s been the time spent helping you around the house, carrying the children,” then he whispered in Will’s ear, “All the sex,” making him blush and laugh.

“And then the more indulgent manner in which I’ve been eating, after years of strict dieting typical of a professional actor, has combined with these other changes in my routine, causing me to put on muscle.”

It was an act of escapism, giving into the slyly sweet moment between them, but Will couldn’t resist raking his eyes up and down Hannibal’s torso in that deep blue button-up, sleeves rolled up exposing strong forearms, fine, smooth fabric hugging sculpted biceps, skimming firm but soft pectorals, then an ever-so-slightly more rounded belly. 

“Jesus, you’re right,” Will whispered into his hand as he leaned across the table towards his boyfriend, their flirtation subtle enough as his dads were again at the counter with their backs turned, affectionately bickering. “You’re, um… _thick._ ”

“A fact of which you are well aware,” Hannibal replied, nuzzling slightly into Will’s neck, raising goosebumps all over his skin. 

“This is so confusing,” Will said with a laugh halfway on its way to a sob. “I’m freaking out right now, so worried about everything, but you can still make me laugh and get me...you know...worked up.”

“That, my dear, is my job.” Hannibal arched his pale brows and smiled, “I take it very seriously, my ability to make you smile and feel ‘worked up.’”

Will cleared his throat, turning red, “Uhhh...mission accomplished.”

“Will,” Reggie interrupted, oblivious to their conversational topic as he tossed a salad, “You don’t still dip your pizza crust in blue cheese like when you were a teenager, do you?”

“Afraid I do,” Will shrugged, laughing again when Reggie shuddered. 

Will felt himself slightly giving into the domestic scene, as if it was someplace he could disappear into and be safe.

Then Hannibal’s phone vibrated, and he deftly showed Will the caller id, an intrigued look taking over his face.

_Margot Verger._

“Wow,” Will enthused, just a little starstruck by Hannibal’s co-star, only to realize seconds later it was a Facetime call. His cheeks, still flushed from Hannibal’s flirtation, went their ultimate shy, fire engine red shade as Hannibal held the phone up displaying both of their faces, whilst Margot’s beautiful face appeared in a square beneath their images.

“Hello, Margot,” Hannibal said calmly. “So nice to hear from you.”

“Hi, Hannibal, I had to call because I’ve been so worried about you, first the separation, now this horrible article thanks to that viper Freddie Lounds, God!” Margot shook her head and her dark, glossy curls tossed beguilingly around her shoulders. “What is wrong with people?” Belatedly noticing Will, she tacked on a friendly, “Oh, God, hi! You’re Will. So great to meet you.”

So, like his dads, and come to think of it, Alana, Margot passed no judgement but immediately assumed Hannibal and Will were the wronged parties with regard to the article. Will let out a sigh of relief.

“Great to meet you too,” he smiled, a wobbly, confused smile. 

It was so surreal to “meet” Margot under these circumstances. What could you really say to a famous, glamorous actress, whose character you had written countless sex scenes of with your current boyfriend, her co-star? After all, he had honestly fantasized himself in Rosamunda’s position in every sultry scene...Good lord.

“We’re doing fine under the circumstances, Margot,” Hannibal explained, bringing her up to speed on the latest developments. 

“That despicable harpy,” Margot scowled, referring to Freddie. “It’s people like her who make me afraid to go outside half of the time. Listen, I think it’s about time we put an end to Freddie Lounds’ reign of terror. There’s no reason we should have to feel this way, as if we can’t live our lives without the constant threat of her getting pictures and warping them to her own insane narratives, all to cash in on our humiliation.”

“You sound like you have a plan in mind,” Will said, startled from his bafflement at meeting her to a small uptick in optimism over their crisis. 

“That I do,” Margot said confidently. She crossed her arms and squared her shoulders, splendid in a sleek black blazer and ruby lips. “Listen up, guys. I think I have a way to fight back and make it clear exactly who Freddie Lounds is and what she does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ❤️ I posted a day early because this is going to be a crazy work week 🤪
> 
> Next time:  
> *Margot's plan!  
> *A Hannibal-Bedelia confrontation,  
> *Plus, Will and Abigail finally meet!


	14. Chapter 14

Margot informed them that she was putting together a television documentary about the impact of paparazzi and tabloid journalism, with the notion of exposing Freddie’s often law-bending and utterly ruthless methods and the damage they caused, the lives she had torn asunder. Hannibal was all for it, feeling the best approach was to honestly address the matter; ironically, he said, while Freddie used lies to diminish others, the truth would be her own condemnation. How could she really get away with continuing her shenanigans once publicly called to a reckoning? Perhaps if the average viewer had a better understanding of what these “journalists” were really all about, they would hesitate to frequent their websites or subscribe to their magazines.

It was typical Hannibal idealism, really, but Will could admit there was a decent chance they could at least get through to some people, put a dent in Freddie's readership. Ethically, it was the right thing to do.

The whole idea just made Will feel nervous, grateful of course, but so very nervous. He wasn’t sure what _he_ could do to help with such an enormous undertaking. As Hannibal agreed to be interviewed for Margot’s documentary, Will sat there keeping relatively calm, despite the shaking of his knee under the table, and said he’d do anything he could to assist with the project, too.

Margot would fly in to film Hannibal’s interview in two days. And in the meantime, there was work to get back to.

***

“Hey, Will!” This morning’s round of paparazzos shouted as Will quickly exited his car and made a beeline for the BCC entrance. Flashing cameras lit up as he rushed past them, ignoring their questions of _“How does it feel to be a homewrecker?”_ and _“Do you think you and Hannibal are forever?”_

“Will, Will!” One particularly shameless young “reporter” called, rushing up to him right before he pushed open the door on the side entrance to the building. “Does it keep you up at night that you destroyed a ten year marriage?”

“Hey, what’s your name?” Will asked, pausing with a cold smirk. Now he was just pissed off -- embarrassed, red in the face, but _angry_ on top of it.

“Shelby Mulgrew,” the girl answered eagerly. She was no more than early twenties he guessed, and looking every bit the Freddie Lounds fangirl with her leather gloves, her blonde hair hanging in spiral curls around a face disturbingly blank of conscience.

“Shelby, how’s it feel to know you’re ruining people’s lives by spreading lies?” He adjusted his glasses and the strap of his messenger bag over one shoulder, his jaw so tight with anxiety it almost hurt to form words. “You’re wrecking your own career before it even starts; trust me, you stay on this path, and one day you’ll wake up old before your time, with a rotted-out soul, cold and alone wondering why you sold your soul to the devil. Wondering why you ever thought your integrity was just a plastic accessory you could trade in for money and headlines. How’s it feel knowing you’re setting yourself up for that with every disgusting question you shout at me, or the other people you stalk on a daily basis?”

Shelby froze momentarily, lowering her phone, which clearly had recorded this entire spiel in lieu of Will’s expected response to her accusation. “I…”

“Just think about it,” he suggested, almost feeling sorry for her but mostly still feeling sick over this whole ordeal. 

In the classroom, the first couple of remarks from students were along the lines of his expectations.

“Professor Graham, how’s Draven in bed?”

“Hey, Professor Homewrecker.”

These barbs emerged from two of his worst students, who thought just showing up to class meant he’d miraculously pass them, although they did nothing but gossip together through his lectures and had completed zero work all semester. He kind of felt like throwing his laptop at their heads, but opted to ignore them, as he used to ignore playground bullies.

“Excuse me,” said a quiet girl named Rachel who sat in the back. Like many of his students, she didn’t really participate in class, but her writing was good, and she was one of the few who occasionally chuckled at his awkward dad jokes during lectures.

“Don’t talk to Professor Graham like that,” Rachel said boldly, making several students look pretty startled, since it was the first time they’d ever heard her, or for that matter realized she was awake during class time. “He’s never been anything but generous, helpful and gracious, and he deserves all of our respect.”

“Thank you, Rachel,” Will blushed, keeping his eyes trained on his desk. He wanted to cry, torn between gratitude for her outburst and hurt feelings at the other students who were rude.

“Here, here,” called Nathan, a junior who was taking English 101 for the fifth time. This was also his third time in Will’s 10am class, and he now got to his feet to initiate a round of applause. “Professor Graham’s the best!” 

“Please, Professor, don’t listen to these idiots,” someone else piped up, inspiring a few hearty “Yeahs!” 

“Oh, please,” Will grumbled, waving him off, along with the clapping students, “Thank you, but really, stop that immediately.” He blushed harder, not eager to get through his lecture on paraphrasing versus summarizing with tears streaming down his face. 

Truly, he never realized any of them cared. And the twenty of them who stood to clap for him while telling the rude ones to shut up certainly mattered a lot more than the handful of ignorant young jerks spouting Freddie Lounds’ evil words. If this went on any longer, Will was in danger of feeling downright appreciated and therefore _sentimental,_ and his heart simply wasn’t equipped for such abundance at the moment.

***

Sitting alone in his mercifully empty classroom during lunch break, Will took out his insulated lunch bag and unzipped it with a helpless smile. Hannibal had made his lunch the night before and left it in the fridge before he had to hurry off to spend time with Abigail. 

An ornate selection of sliver-thin, carefully flavor-coordinated tea sandwiches were complimented by a thermos of sweet tea, just the way Will liked it, and some of Hannibal’s homemade Lithuanian cookies. He was nibbling on one of the perfect lemon cookies which, instead of the traditional knot shape, had been formed into a heart, when his phone vibrated with a new text.

Hannibal: _How are you, my dear?_  
Will: _Much better since somebody made me an amazing, completely delicious lunch. You spoil me._  
Hannibal: _It’s my pleasure, mylimasis. Are you feeling more relaxed?_

Will hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. There were parts of his past which he had deliberately withheld for his own selfish reasons, and he wasn’t going to compound it with any further falsehood, no matter how small the topic.

_Not really. But I’ll be okay. How are you holding up?_

The door behind his desk opened, and Will rolled his chair back to find, to his astonishment, that Hannibal stood before him with a gentle smile, dressed in Neal’s nerdy accountant suit with his character’s glasses slipped into the outside pocket. 

“Much better since I laid my eyes on an amazing, completely delicious boy I know,” Hannibal said in that cat’s purr of a murmur that made Will feel hot all over.

“What are you doing here?” Will asked, “How did you get in without getting waylaid by students wanting autographs?”

“I came in on the ground floor, where I saw the least amount of congregation, and utilized my clever disguise to come here--”

Will groan-laughed as Hannibal brandished his baseball cap and sunglasses disguise again. In unison, they said “Incognito.”

He got up from his desk and peered out through the small window in the classroom door. Hallway empty, plenty of other classes in session, none scheduled in this room for hours to come. Twisting the lock on the door, he raised his eyebrows and nodded for Hannibal to move out of view of the window, over towards the desk.

“Just how long of a lunch break did Alana give the cast today?” Will asked, grasping Hannibal’s rather ghastly paisley tie with the greatest affection.

“Long enough,” said Hannibal, smoldering at him, letting himself be drawn up flush to his lover’s body. He tossed the hat and glasses onto Will’s desk and added, “I was concerned you still hadn’t been able to relax. There’s been far too much stress placed on you lately.”

“And you think it’s your responsibility to relieve my stress?” Will asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’re the one who told me to stop blaming myself for your stress, doesn’t that go both ways?”

“I don’t blame myself, but it’s still my strongest urge to comfort you in your time of need...thoroughly, of course.”

“Well, you don’t do anything by halves,” Will blushed and smirked.

They started kissing, with Will assuming it would just be what they could get away with -- a few brisk, soft presses of lips to tide them over until the next time they could be fully alone, but Hannibal meant business. He backed Will against the desk and wrapped him in a tight embrace, licking into his mouth while his hand moved firmly down the younger man’s back to grope his ass.

“Umm, what’re you doing?” Will asked in a kiss-blurred mumble, giggling and problematically aroused. “We’re at my work.”

“So we are,” Hannibal muttered against his lips, his hands shifting to Will’s front and unbuttoning his trousers. “And you’re not relaxed. You’re uncomfortably anxious, and I can’t have that.”

“ _Hannibal,_ ” Will tried to warn, though doing absolutely nothing to stop Hannibal from reaching down his pants to cup the bulge in his underwear. His eyes rolled back as an automatic swoon of pleasure went through him at the expertly intimate touch. As his head dropped against Hannibal’s shoulder, his hips arched into the actor’s touch and he moaned, “But we can’t.”

“Will, who is going to stop us?” Hannibal asked, slipping a hand down the back of his underwear, caressing his ass with a slow but firm massage. “The door is locked. We’re out of view of the tiny excuse for a window on the door which is the only opening to the outside world. Normally I would decry a campus for housing windowless classrooms, but in this case…”

He slipped Will’s trousers down altogether, making the younger man shiver and clutch at his shirtfront. “Mmm, Hannibal, please...what if…”

“Security? Does security unlock classroom doors during this time of the day, when no activities are scheduled for this particular room?”

“N-- I mean no,” Will sighed, lost to the sensation of Hannibal stroking his now fully hard cock and caressing his ass, “No one’s going to catch us, we’re safe now. As long as we’re quick about it.” His voice was halting, going from petal-soft to gritty in time with his hips moving back and forth, pushing his weeping cock into Hannibal’s skillful fist. 

“That’s right, my darling,” Hannibal soothed, delighted by his obedience. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s good boy. Let me make it all better.”

Before he knew it, Will found himself bent over his desk, trousers pooled around his ankles, his lower body naked and exposed to the cool of air conditioning, then Hannibal’s insatiable fingers and mouth, the older man’s cock every now and again gently brushing against his ass in an intolerable tease as he gripped the other edge of the desk and begged, “Please, Daddy” in a wanton whimper.

“I’m scheduling an activity for this particular room,” Hannibal murmured, drunk on desire, kneeling to part Will’s ass cheeks and apply several wet kisses before licking deeper, shamelessly enjoying him.

“Hnnh-oh, God,” Will cried softly, thrilled by the danger and comforted by Hannibal’s sensuous affection, a combination of physical and emotional feelings that made him want to burst into tears and shout with pleasure at the same time. “Daddy--”

“Daddy knows what his good boy needs,” Hannibal muttered hotly in his ear when he straightened up to standing, nipping at Will’s ear, then biting his neck beneath the collar of his shirt, easily uncapping the small bottle of lubricant he had brought. “I want you so blissed out that you can’t remember how not to relax, Will.”

“Ahhh-- oh, ohhh,” Will panted, his torso pressed tight to the desk as he pivoted his ass, presenting himself, something he had never done with other lovers. He was blatantly asking to be pleasured the way he liked, and without one shadow of a doubt he was about to be satisfied beyond his wildest dreams.

Hannibal remained fully dressed except for his thick cock, reddened with need and dripping precum. He slid a finger inside Will, growling softly at how easily he entered his lover. 

“So tight, but you always want this so badly,” Hannibal murmured, truly in awe of Will’s beauty and desire. “My sensitive, gorgeous boy. Do you know how much I want you?”

“Mmm,” Will sighed, his cheek pressed against his sweaty hands, electric tingles of bliss resonating with every deeper thrust of big fingers inside him, two now..then three, finding his prostate and -- “Fuck-fuck-fuck,” he gasped.

“I asked you a question, my darling,” Hannibal reminded him, mischievous now as he withdrew his fingers, then teased Will’s entrance again with the tip of his huge-feeling cock. “Do you know how much I want you?”

“Yes,” Will blurted, surprising himself to realize it was true. Here and now, there was absolutely no one and nothing in the world which Hannibal wanted more than him. In this moment, he was more adored than ever. He was the center of the universe as far as Hannibal was concerned, and it dizzied him. “Yes, I know, I...I want you that much, too. Need you.”

“Yes?” Hannibal smiled, pressing into him with a long, firm, fluid glide, knowing they only had a few more minutes, if they were to be faithfully prudent in this naughty stolen interlude. He had been thorough enough with the rimming and finger-fucking, and Will was so aroused, that with breathtaking ease he could wind an arm around Will’s low belly to drag him up closer, then thrust in to the hilt. “Is this what you need from Daddy?”

“Yes!” Will moaned, earning himself a spanking and a coy “Shhhh” from Hannibal.

Then Will let himself simply drape back into Hannibal’s all-consuming embrace, both of them enjoying that ecstatic moment of full, unimaginably deep penetration with the older man’s hips flush to Will’s ass, everything just right -- hot, slick, perfect. They exchanged messy lop-sided kisses when Hannibal grabbed Will’s hips and proceeded to just fuck the living daylights out of him, mercilessly fast and hard, but completely targeted to hit his prostate with the most euphoric pressure and timing. Hannibal knew that the total inundation of mind-blowing pleasure was exactly what Will needed.

By the time Hannibal emptied into him on a ragged gasp, Will was so close to orgasm that the sudden staggering in the tempo of his lover’s thrusts made him mewl in deprivation. With a heart-quickening realization, he understood Hannibal didn’t mean to come just then, that it had happened unexpectedly. In fact, the actor was blushing a little bit as he drew himself trembling from Will’s body, leaving the warm imprint of his cum deep inside. It was more than enough for Will to feel enraptured -- the risque afternoon delight, getting fucked half out of his mind, making Hannibal come like that when the older man was usually far too controlled to allow such a thing. He grinned, cupping Hannibal’s pink-cheeked face and kissing him sweetly. 

“I did not intend,” Hannibal began, baffled by what had happened so quickly, pleasure consuming him despite his intention to make Will come first. 

“You’re perfect, Hannibal,” Will smiled, getting ready to tuck himself back into his underwear and trousers, then start cleaning the room up. “You couldn’t make me happier.” He’d have to hit the men’s room and tidy himself quite a bit, too, but there was time between classes…

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, my dear?” Although still shivering with afterglow, Hannibal gave his most devilish grin, then hit his knees again and sucked Will off to a climax so powerful, the writer had to bite his own fist, hard, to hold back from screaming in pleasure. 

Swallowing, then licking the sides of his lips of excess cum from Will’s copious release, Hannibal gave another saucy smile and got back to his feet, taking Will’s trembling form into his arms. “There, now. Are you relaxed, Will?”

“Mmmhmm,” Will moaned, snuggling his face into Hannibal’s neck and kissing the warm, beloved skin he found there, thinking how he loved every inch of this man, body, heart, soul and mind. Hannibal smelled of cinnamon, which meant he’d been filming in the movie’s mock-up of a holiday gift shop today. It was delightful, and this was paradise, just for a few more minutes, Hannibal murmuring praise, hugging him and rubbing his back, and he was Daddy’s good boy, one hundred percent loved and taken care of. There was nothing to worry about, no sensation to be found that wasn’t joy. “So relaxed,” he smiled.

Laughing together at their mischief, soon after they cleaned up, and Hannibal made a stealthy retreat, leaving Will vaguely wondrous at his ability to deftly navigate the baffling layout of BCC. After Hannibal left, he remembered what his lover had said when he questioned his spy-level skills in getting in and out of this place: “Where there’s a Will, there’s a way.” And Will burst out laughing again, getting himself composed right before his afternoon class began and students filed in. 

But he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face for the whole rest of the day.

***

When Hannibal went back to the set, his resplendent mood was immediately somewhat tarnished by the sight of Bedelia, standing outside his trailer with a cross expression.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded, looking around for security. He had half a mind to have her escorted off-set after her latest misdeeds.

“Has that become your standard format for greeting me now?” Bedelia asked, her lip curling slightly in distaste. “For your information, Hannibal, I came here to schedule a meeting with our mediator. There’s quite a bit we still need to work out in terms of custody and --”

“Has betrayal become your standard format of coping with the results of your own disloyalty?” Hannibal interrupted, primed to burst from anger. She hadn’t explained herself or apologized, hadn't even mentioned the article.

“If you are referring to the interview I granted Ms. Lounds--”

“ _Interview?_ ” Hannibal hissed, “Every word you told that fiendish woman was an outrageous falsehood!”

“Hannibal, this is unlike you.” Bedelia tugged on her neat little lavender suit jacket, prim in her amazement at his emotional state. “Really. Why don’t you compose yourself, so that we can talk this over in your trailer, rather than out in the open?”

“I don’t want you in my personal space anymore, Bedelia, I don’t want you in my personal _life,_ as I told you in no uncertain terms on the day you called to tell me you were going to have an affair with your co-star, despite it breaking my heart. Because you _wanted_ to, because you needed to be free with your desires. So I set you free because I could not bear another second of the torment you so relished unleashing on me, and now you’ve sold a series of disgusting lies to the worst tabloid reporter in the country. Please, enlighten me,” he said, almost breathless from his tirade, mainly because he absolutely never _had_ tirades. 

It was a novel experience. He had allowed himself to “fly off the handle” as it were, because really, what did he have to lose at this point? At any rate he believed the area to be empty of anyone but themselves, and surely he had kept his voice to a low enough tone that he could not quite be described as shouting. Or...had he? Hannibal was uncertain. He thought probably he had not shouted since he was a boy, but now...his throat felt slightly worn, in a telling way.

Bedelia stood with her back pressed against the trailer as if she would have to be peeled off the surface due to her complete shock at his behavior, the verbal inundation of his anger. She had really expected him to take this latest betrayal in stride, go along with it to protect Abigail from any dispute between the two of them. It just proved she didn’t know him anymore, perhaps she never had known him beyond what she could take and what she could ignore or dispose of according to her latest selfish whim.

He felt a certain grim satisfaction in her wide open mouth and reddened eyes, glimmering with what looked like some small amount of regret. What she regretted was being accused of her own loathsome actions, not having committed them in the first place. But at least now he had some tiny feeling of vengeance.

“Just tell me why,” Hannibal said, his heart hurting a little as he came down from the high of anger and felt simply miserable at her choices. He stared her down, fiery amber to ice blue. “Why. You felt you hadn’t taken enough from me?”

“It’s never enough, Hannibal,” Bedelia replied, finally snapped out of her daze. “You leave me for some pathetic commoner, some tousle-haired boy little more than half your age and expect me to think it’s anything other than a sad midlife crisis? Really, who can blame me for trying to save you from yourself? A few well-placed lies were more than acceptable as a means of making you see the error of your ways.”

“The error of my ways?” Hannibal spun around, paced back and forth, ran a hand through his hair. All mainly to resist lunging at her and strangling her on the spot. “Who do you think you are, Bedelia? The despot in control of my mere existence? How loftily you speak of the man I love, as if you are an aristocrat and he a pauper. Well, even if that was true, I would still choose _Will._ Because you treated me abominably, you were unfaithful, and cruel about it as well. Even now, you seek to make me suffer, for no other reason than your own egomaniacal gratification. You have sold yourself a tale of poor, suffering Bedelia Du Maurier as surely as you sold it to Freddie Lounds. But you and I know very well, I never even set eyes on Will Graham until you and I were officially separated and definitely planning on divorce. You know we’ve had divorce papers drawn up since early July.”

“So what?” Bedelia almost spat, devolving into casual colloquialism from her tower on high. “I have an image to protect, and you were _embarrassing_ me with your silly affair.” 

“Mom?” A shaking voice broke into the heated argument, a girl’s voice, filled with disbelief and anguish.

They turned to see Abigail standing there, aghast, staring at them as tears streaked down her face. “Did you really do that? Cheat on Dad, then turn around and tell Freddie Lounds he did that to you?”

“Abigail,” Bedelia began, expertly shifting into sternly maternal mode, unflappably insistent on decorum and that she must, of course, be right. “This is a private conversation between your father and I. I’m sure you misunderstood.”

“I’m sure I _didn’t_!” Abigail snapped, looking every inch the formidable angry teenager. Yet in her big blue eyes there was such sadness, such disillusionment. Hannibal almost regretted exposing Bedelia’s lies, but perhaps it was better she see her mother clearly for the first time.

“You-- you told me, told the world that Dad left you for Will Graham and broke your heart, when really, he dumped you -- which sounds pretty right on, actually -- and you just didn’t want to let him be happy with someone else.” Abigail glared at her mother, who flinched.

“Well. I think it’s a great deal more complicated than that,” Bedelia answered, as if she thought she could still recover her daughter’s good opinion with useless vagaries.

“It’s not any more complicated than that,” Abigail sniffled, looking at Hannibal. “Is it, Dad?”

“No, it’s not,” Hannibal admitted. He put his hand out, and Abigail took it, and then they turned their back on Bedelia. “Come, let’s take a walk,” he invited.

“Yeah,” Abigail nodded, brushing tears from her cheek and going along with him easily. “I’d like that.”

“Abigail, you cannot simply walk away from me--” Bedelia objected weakly.

“Oh, really?” Abigail shook her head and squeezed her father’s hand, taking comfort in his supportive presence. “Watch me.”

***

Hannibal took Abigail on a stroll around the periphery of the set, staying clear of the crew who were busy prepping for the next scene in the gift shop where Bella’s character Maggie worked, and Neil was soon to woo her. There were machines for blowing fake snow set up all around the harbor hub, and on a less anxiety-inducing day, it was amusing to wander past big snowman and reindeer statues in the summer heat. 

“Think this is gonna be a good movie?” She asked, sipping Coke from a glass bottle with a straw. They’d stopped by craft services to get her a cold drink, at which time Alana had quietly told him they had twenty minutes left before filming would resume.

“I hope so. I always hope.” He smiled and shrugged, “I think we have a chance to make something truly special here. I could never ask for a better director, co-star…”

“Or writer,” Abigail put in. “Dad, I’m so sorry I just believed Mom without even hearing you out. I don’t know why I did that. You’re the one who’s always been there for me, even when you’re off filming somewhere -- and she could be right in the room with me, but a thousand miles away. Why did I listen to her or -- God, why did I listen to Freddie Lounds?”

“You had no idea what to believe,” Hannibal reasoned as they walked past the costume designer adjusting Bella’s elf costume, then a few more trailers of cast and crew. “Of course you didn’t. You were deluged with misinformation before I ever had the opportunity to tell you about the separation. It is not your fault you believed them, Abigail, and in your place, at your age I might have done the same.”

The sky above them was dazzling blue, the breeze off the water charming as ever. He could hardly reconcile the chaos of his life with the ideal appearance and feeling of the day, but then…how to reconcile the pain of divorce with the joy of new love? All the problems and possibilities of his life were threatening him and shining for him in equal measure.

“I thought Will Graham must be such a jerk,” Abigail frowned repentantly. “But I think that was just easier than accepting that you and mom were really over. I _knew_ something was wrong between you, but I hadn’t really...accepted it until now. Will Graham’s not a jerk at all, huh?”

“He’s a wonderful person,” Hannibal assured her. “And so are you. I couldn’t be prouder of you, Abigail. I only hope I can be there for you now whenever you may need me. And...in time, I hope you will be on good terms with your mother again.”

“Humph,” Abigail groused, “Why would I do that? I can’t _believe_ the lengths she went to, or how she lied to me. It makes me want to scream.”

“An entirely natural sentiment. And yet, although she and I have clashed of late, and found our marriage unsustainable, she does love you.”

“In her own self-serving way.” Abigail sighed, tossed her empty soda bottle into a nearby recycling bin, and flopped down on a bench, watching a series of extras dressed in winter clothes go walking by. They must be sweating, but most seemed excited to be included in a real big-screen movie.

“I believe we can only love in the way we have been taught to love, and the way we have learned to show affection, whether to ourselves or others,” Hannibal mused. “Perhaps your mother will take a lesson from this experience that will help her to love you better in future.”

“I guess maybe I can think about _someday_ acknowledging her existence again.” Abigail scowled as Hannibal sat beside her with an understanding nod.

“Well. That is a start.”

***

When the evening arrived to begin work on the documentary, Margot filmed the interviews at Georgia’s house, even using her difficult entrance onto the estate as part of the recording. Every attempt of the paparazzi camped at the gates to shout rude questions at her was caught on video, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. 

“They look like a bunch of drooling lunatics, shouting sad old plastic rumors at me, _‘Margot, is it true you and Hannibal once dated? Were you another of his illicit affairs?’ ‘Margot, why are you still single? Do you have an STD?”_ Margot strolled into Georgia’s house, following Hannibal into one of the large rec rooms where they could conduct the interviews. 

“I guess it’s so much easier for them to concoct all of these outlandish theories than simply turn their gaydars on,” she sighed, sitting on the bright red couch as Hannibal took up the chair across from her.

“I’m terribly sorry about that. They’ve pursued me relentlessly all summer,” Hannibal explained. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Whiskey, rocks,” she said emphatically, tossing shiny dark tresses over one slim shoulder. In her jade green sweater, black pencil skirt and red lipstick, she looked like a force to be reckoned with, and Hannibal would have felt sorry for Freddie, who was most decidedly in Margot’s crosshairs -- if Freddie wasn’t the most despicable person he had ever met, that is.

“Margot Verger, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Will Graham,” Hannibal announced with all his typically cute formality as Will practically stumbled into the room, crazy-nervous to meet another of his icons in person.

“Hi there,” Will smiled, appearing with three glasses and heading for the small liquor cabinet on a side table. “I’ll get the drinks.”

“Thank you, so great to meet you in person, Will,” Margot said warmly, making Will almost faint from sheer fanboy vibes. She was so larger than life in her beauty, vibrancy and sincere determination to set the record straight, dethrone the queen of tabloid lies. 

If he went back in time and told his former self he would be having drinks with Hannibal Lecter and Margot Verger, he’d never have believed it, but adding in the fact of his intimate connection to Hannibal, it was _incredibly_ surreal.

Here he was, just...hanging out with Draven and Rosamunda… _in Georgia’s house_? It was like something out of an especially disorganized dream.

“Well, I’ve done some snooping so thorough that even Freddie would have to respect it, _except_ ,” Margot grinned, slapping a thick file folder on the table, “That she really wouldn’t like the subject matter.”

“Is this a dossier of Ms. Lounds’ sins?” Hannibal inquired, picking up the folder and placing it on his lap so that he and Will could both see it clearly. 

Settled on the arm of Hannibal’s chair, Will was surprised to find how comfortable he was showing their domestic relationship in front of others, even such a famous guest. 

“I would have expected a thicker file, actually,” Will said drily.

“Ah. According to this, our nemesis has forged several degrees from journalism schools.” Hannibal sipped his drink, then added, “Very naughty, Ms. Lounds.”

“All she does is lie,” Will groused, pointing at the next page, one of many testimonials Margot had collected from Freddie’s past victims. “Apparently she makes a habit of telling her interview subjects she’s writing for upstanding publications, only for them to see their quotes wildly out of context and splashed all over Tattle-Celeb.com.”

“I don’t think it’s a criminal offense, but she’s keen on emotional extortion as well.” Margot sat back, crossed her legs and bobbed her ankle, loosening one of her elegant green pumps. “Like what she did with Matthew Brown.”

“Oh. Him,” Will rolled his eyes with a groan. “I still can’t believe he agreed to be interviewed.”

“Some people will do anything for a bit of attention,” Hannibal observed with a gentle caress of Will’s hand. “However, in this case, Mr. Brown’s egotism directly benefits us.”

Hannibal’s interview was first up, then Will had agreed to at least try contributing one of his own. After meeting Margot and hearing more about her plans, he felt more confident about being on camera now, even if it did require him to _talk_ in front of potentially, well, the whole world. Margot was a meticulous, focused, driven director, and she had made it her mission to use the story of Freddie’s campaign against Will and Hannibal to illustrate the toxic nature of tabloid journalism as a whole. He felt safe in her hands, and just a little better about this entire problem. Working proactively to solve it felt amazing in comparison to sitting around like a passive victim.

Will decided to head out for a walk around the huge gardens in the back of Georgia’s estate, giving Hannibal space to conduct his individual interview. The doorbell rang just as he was about to head out, so, curious, he answered it to find Phil standing there grinning next to none other than Abigail Hobbs.

Running away wasn’t really an option, despite the fact that he was incredibly stressed about what Hannibal’s daughter must think of him after the article. So he settled for freezing in place with a shocked, awkward expression and not one clue what to say or do.

“Special delivery!” Phil crowed, oblivious to his conundrum. “Have you two met?”

“This is the first time,” Abigail put in breezily, taking Will by surprise as she extended her hand in greeting. “Hi, Will. I’m Abigail.”

His agitated features melted into a grateful smile. “Hi Abigail, I’m so happy to meet you, finally.”

Oh! He still had to say something else, right! Dammit, uhhh…

“Uhh, do you wanna come in?” Will asked, noticing the traveling bag on the ground next to Abigail’s sandaled feet. He felt foolish, belatedly remembering he didn’t live here, and since this was her father’s house for the summer, she should be the one inviting him, if anything. “I mean...um.”

“I’m just gonna drop my bag off for now,” Abigail said casually with a shrug. She strolled into the foyer and deposited her bag on a big leather chair, then stretched and yawned. “It’s been a hell of a few days, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Will smiled as Phil waved “goodbye for now” at them and headed back to his duties. 

Once they were alone, he gave her an apologetic look and said “Abigail, I’m so sorry about that article, about what you must have thought--”

“Do you wanna go take a walk?” Abigail inquired lightly. She crooked a finger behind her and added, “It’s totally gorgeous out, and I could use the sunshine and exercise.”

“Me, too.” Will followed her to the lush gardens, amazed at her self-possession and confidence at such a young age. At sixteen, he’d been an awkward mess by comparison. Actually...he kind of still was. 

Trailing her hand along a rose bush, her sandals crunching on the neat gravel path, Abigail asked, “So, you love my Dad?”

“Oh, I…” Will cupped the back of his neck, head ducked shyly. 

“Sorry, I’m probably not very good at this,” she admitted. “I mean to say, I can tell you love my Dad, that you love each other. And I wanted you to know it’s fine with me.”

He blinked at her, trying to keep up. They had only just met, yet she seemed so familiar with her warm, steady blue gaze, her lightening-quick discernment, her frankness. Then Will thought she must seem familiar because she was Hannibal’s daughter. His own nature and understanding were by now so intertwined with his lover’s that he could recognize the reflection of Hannibal’s kind and honest nature shining through her eyes, her cautiously generous demeanor, her well-guarded fragility. 

“Really?” Will stood with his hands in his pockets, basking in the sun and an immense relief that she didn’t despise him for “stealing” her father’s affection from her mother, that she hadn’t been forever scarred by Freddie’s lies. “I wouldn’t blame you if you said it wasn’t okay.”

“Yeah? Were your parents divorced, too?” She rolled a long strand of auburn hair around her finger. It struck Will that she was still trying to decide what she thought of divorce as a general concept, what family could mean in the aftermath of such a separation.

“No, neither...I mean my biological parents weren’t divorced officially, although they had a lot of problems. My adoptive parents are happily married, going on twenty years now.”

“You’re adopted, too?” Abigail stopped plucking at the flowers and tugging vine branches, fiddling with her hair. She just stood there and considered Will more intently than ever. He was no longer a mysterious new presence in her life, her father’s partner but a stranger, a fellow victim of Freddie’s twisted games; Will was someone...like herself.

“Yes. When I was nine,” Will explained. “If you ever wanna talk about it, I’d be happy to do that.”

“Oh, that’s awesome,” Abigail sighed. “I don’t know anyone else who’s adopted, especially anyone else who was adopted not as a baby, but further into childhood. I was twelve when my parents, well. When Hannibal and Bedelia took me in, I mean Mom and Dad…”

“I know.” Will spoke gently, “It’s a unique set of feelings. Hard to describe.”

“Hard to handle sometimes,” she agreed. “Pain and gratitude, grief and joy.”

“Exactly.”

“I guess every rose has its thorn,” Abigail joked delicately, framed like a perfect picture beside another collection of bright red blossoms, almost the same color as the tank top she wore with denim shorts. It was a funny thought, but with her pale skin, bright blue eyes and dark hair, she reminded Will a little of his teenaged self. She didn’t even dress all that differently; switch out the red top for a white one with motor oil stains from fixing old boats, and it could almost be his younger incarnation standing before him, cracking jokes about childhood wounds and redemption.

“You listen to power ballads?” Will grinned and she giggled. “That’s not all we have in common either, aside from putting up with your Dad’s cooking monologues.”

“Oh, God,” she laughed harder, “Did he tell you the origin story of fish jello yet?”

“Ew, I’ve not had the pleasure,” Will chuckled, his palate somewhat grateful that hadn’t happened to him yet. “But he did make me the world’s fanciest fish and chips while delivering a half hour long impromptu documentary on the background -- did you know that the potato was first brought to England by Sir Walter Raleigh in the seventeenth century after his travels to North America, but the French are typically credited for having created the ‘fry,’ otherwise known as a ‘chip’...”

“Did you know it’s really a shame to dip it either in ketchup or vinegar, because it only obscures the flavor?”

“I think I’ve heard that somewhere,” Will mused fondly. “You know, I really don’t mind the cooking monologues. I think I kind of love them a little.”

“Me, too,” Abigail admitted. “It’s just Dad, you know?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it is,” Will smiled. “It’s just him.”

They chatted for a while longer, laughing about their shared love of “nerd stuff” such as Doctor Who and comic books, and Will mentioned his two kids who had already become great fans as well. Abigail’s face lit up when he told her about Rory and Rose.

“I’d love to meet them sometime. There’s a cool playground near my Dad’s set I could show them! It has five different slides and sprinklers they could run through.”

“I think they’d love that, too,” Will enthused, his heart lifting at how much better this meeting had gone than he would ever have anticipated. 

Freddie didn’t ruin a damn thing when it came right down to it. If he let himself, Will might have thought, _she couldn’t ruin what was always meant to be._ But August was almost over now, and he wouldn’t let himself go that far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Will confronts Matthew, and we'll see what he has to say for himself! And later, a surprise guest at Rory and Rose's birthday party causes Hannibal to better understand Will's childhood struggles...
> 
> Thanks for reading as always! ❤️


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of alcoholism

“Matthew,” Will said coldly, opening the front door of Georgia’s house to admit his work acquaintance. Definitely not a friend. An almost-lover, maybe, once. A lucky escape, clearly, in retrospect.

“Hi, Will,” Matthew said, looking penitent and very serious in a denim button-up and plain black trousers. 

His dark brown hair seemed almost black when he wore it slicked back like this, as Will recalled. He remembered the intensity of Matthew’s amorous stare and how it once stoked the fire of lonely pain inside him, recalled the feeling like the sting of a since-healed injury. It felt like resentment.

“I really don’t know what to say, except that I’m sorry.” Matthew stood there with that same old puppy dog expression he used to employ to try and tempt Will back to flirting with him despite his married status. 

“I’ve seen that look on your face so often that I genuinely cannot tell if there’s anything real about you. You’ve toyed with me and manipulated my feelings, and then when I didn’t want the fun of _that_ experience anymore, you went and told bold-faced fucking lies to an evil reporter so I could be humiliated in front of the entire world,” Will accused, finding the words flying faster and angrier the more he spoke. “But you don’t know what else to say, except that you’re sorry.”

“I was jealous, okay?” Matthew blurted, an embarrassed flush finally coming into his cheeks, making him seem more human. “And Freddie knew it. She played on my emotions to get me to twist my version of the story. That night I saw you and Hannibal dancing, I knew I’d lost my chance with you forever out of indecision. I don’t know why it made me angry with the two of you, when I had no one but myself to blame. Maybe it was Freddie, wheedling my story out of me, then saying I must not have been very special to you, but just another in a long line of what she called your married boyfriends…”

“And you _believed_ that?” Will glared at him.

“Alright. I know. I was a jealous _idiot._ A jealous, selfish, easily misled fool. I’m here to tell the whole story to Margot for this documentary and make it 100 percent clear that I am the jerk here. You did nothing wrong. This is a story full of villains, and I might only be a minor player, but a villain I was.”

“You’re damn right,” Will said, furious with him, too much so for forgiveness to yet be in sight. Maybe someday, but not now. “You’re damn right you were. So keep your promise this time, Matthew. Stay true to your word, for once in your life.”

Matthew did. He gave a rather heartfelt confession in his interview with Margot, leaving out no detail of his own bitter misdeeds, nor Freddie’s role in convincing him to lie. Will hoped it would help, would form one piece they needed in the puzzle of this project: the attempt to show through her actions who Freddie Lounds was. The attempt to make viewers think twice about the sort of gossip websites and magazines they spent their time and money on, the stories they believed without ever questioning their validity, the celebrities they felt it was their right to see into the private lives of, simply by virtue of them being stars. 

Will gave an interview too, sitting by Hannibal’s side. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever gotten himself to do, overcoming his shyness and reluctance to publicly discuss his personal life. He cried, admitting he just wanted to be a good dad, that he had been so worried that this article would come back to disturb his children in some way, that he even felt for a short time he must actually be the awful person Freddie described. Even though it didn’t make any sense, seeing himself discussed as this sleazy homewrecker who didn’t put his kids’ needs first had made him feel…

“Sick. As if Freddie knew exactly what to say to hit me right in my deepest insecurities about not being a good enough parent.” Will brushed tears from his cheek and Hannibal took his hand, squeezed it, looked at him, brown eyes overflowing with concern and love. “Hannibal and I are just two people who found each other at rough times in both our lives, and we’ve been there for one another. That’s it. It’s nothing like what Freddie described. She made something fragile and precious into some...despicable affair.”

“Furthermore,” Hannibal added, the affectionate concern in his voice now mixing with burning but quiet rage, “Ms. Lounds targeted Will more than myself in that article. This was an act of deliberate vengeance against me, personally. Because a few days earlier, I had insulted her. I broke her phone, I admit it openly. She found a way to sneak onto a closed set and discovered the location of my personal trailer, and then she cornered my sixteen year old daughter, showed her photographs of myself and Will that seemed compromising. My _sixteen year old_ daughter, who did not yet know about my separation from her mother. The chance to have a sensitive conversation with my daughter about our divorce was stolen from me by a complete stranger who simply enjoys feeding off of others’ suffering, like a mad succubus. Yet be assured, she bears no sign of madness. Freddie Lounds is the coldest person I have ever met. And…” He looked from Margot’s attentive face right into the camera. He did not say Bedelia’s name outright but Will knew his meaning perfectly well as he added, “I have known some very, very cold individuals.”

The documentary was not about exposing Bedelia. They all felt this would be unfair to Abigail, who was going through enough without seeing her mother’s name tarnished -- however rightfully -- on national television. Anyway, Bedelia was not the foremost culprit of the story, no matter how underhanded and vile her own machinations. Hannibal hoped that one day, she would regret what she had done.

“I sense that she already does,” he told Will after the interviews were over and the crew had left for the night. 

It was just the two of them now, and Abigail upstairs asleep in a guest room. Margot was staying at a hotel...possibly Hannibal had recommended the same one Alana had chosen, with a matchmaking sparkle in his eyes.

They went into the kitchen for a drink, then nursed short glasses of fine whiskey out on the balcony, Will’s head on Hannibal’s shoulder as they reclined on two lounge seats they’d pushed together. “Well, Abigail moved out of the hotel, came here…”

“She and Bedelia had a massive argument,” Hannibal explained. “Abigail isn’t sure she wants to have anything more to do with a mother who would lie to her, then lie to the world, in such a brutal way. It was a brutal thing to do. I don’t know how they make it seem so serenely wicked, she and your ex-husband, when it’s brutal.”

“It’s brutal to us, because it hurt so much,” Will reasoned, letting the firm warmth of Hannibal, the caress of his hands kneading anxious shoulders, continue calming him into what remained of the evening. What remained of the summer, they could still savor together, after all. “It’s quiet to them, this kind of betrayal, because they don’t care. They’re sorry they got caught is all, but they’d have been entirely content watching us burnt to a crisp by public condemnation. They have their list of petty grievances for which they blame us, and they could write off their deceit as payment due. At least Matthew actually regrets what he did.”

Hannibal nodded, setting his drink down and bringing his hand to dangle thoughtfully at his lower lip.

“Hannibal, you do realize that even if Matthew was single and turned over some new leaf to become a good person and _begged_ me to date him, I’d never do that, right?”

“Forgive me, mylimasis. My jealousy over you seems to be set off by the merest indication I am not the only one who desires you. Perhaps it is because I cannot bear to think of others having the privilege to see you often, once I have to leave. I...do not wish to go…”

“You have to,” Will shrugged as if this would make it feel any better, his long-held acceptance of the inevitable, his own bitterness, self-directed, for falling in love with someone he could never fully have. And not just any love, but desperately deep, soulmate love, the once-in-a-lifetime kind. The fairy tale. 

“You have a daughter who needs you, and needs stability. You have a wonderful career you’ve spent decades pouring your beautiful craft into, and that’s led to a hit tv show you have every reason to be incredibly proud of. You can’t abandon all that and just live with me in middle-of-nowhere Virginia. It would be like _Superman II_.”

“Is that the installment wherein Superman gives up his powers to be with Lois Lane?”

“Exactly, and of course it doesn’t work out, because Kal El can’t just be Clark Kent. He has to also be Superman. He loves Lois, but he’s bigger than that love to too many other people.”

“Really, Will. I am no man of steel, and there is nothing bigger than my feeling for you. I’m determined to find some way we can make this work. Don’t you think we might discuss it at length sometime soon?”

“Hannibal, I can’t move to Canada, uproot my kids and separate them from visitation with their awful other father, who they do love and depend on because they’re only kids and they need both of their parents. I’ve already hurt them enough by getting divorced. And you can’t stay here.”

Will buried his face deeper into Hannibal’s chest, nuzzling into his spicy scent and the feeling of fingers intertwining with his curls, a kiss on the top of his head, Hannibal releasing a short, sad breath. “Let’s just be here, now. It’s what we can have, and I want to feel that happiness, not the...I don’t want to feel what’s coming in the future. Just this, just now. Okay?”

Hannibal sighed again, but he went along with Will’s request, unable to deny him such a genuine and understandable acquiescence. They’d spend the rest of the night star-gazing, cuddling, talking softly together about anything but the end of summer, kissing slowly and falling ever deeper. It would still be a good night, more than good. “Okay, Will,” he repeated with the smallest quiver in his breath.

***

The Blue Slate diner was covered in pink and green party streamers and balloons, summer birthday kids Rory and Rose’s favorite colors both represented in honor of their joint party, and Reggie was putting the finishing touches on a true masterpiece of a cake.

“Wow, Dad,” Will breathed, admiring the double-layered vanilla donut cake with its decadent frosting, colored to match the decorations, and copious rainbow sprinkles, plus figurines of a little girl and boy posed on top. “You’ve really outdone yourself this year.”

“You say that every year, honey,” Reggie answered distractedly, looking at the cake from different angles to make sure it was just right before he set it out for display on the counter.

“And it’s always true,” Will gushed, hugging him as Hannibal, Brian and Robbie came in, the three of them lugging paper plates, cups, and napkins, a piñata shaped like an ice cream cone, and a bunch of wrapped presents that had Rose and Rory immediately running to them, jumping up and down.

“Can I please open just one?” Rory begged, and as usual Robbie surrendered, handing a small box each to him and Rose. Hannibal gave him a questioning glance and Will immediately wanted to run over there and prevent this from happening. If the kids opened one present, they would want to open them all before the rest of the guests arrived--

 _“I want to open all the pwesents!”_ Rose was soon, predictably, screaming, her face bright red as Abigail watched the whole scene with docile curiosity, standing beside her father looking like an exact mini version of his easy-going personality.

Hannibal and Will were careful not to act overtly like a couple in front of Abigail because it was too soon and they didn’t want to confuse her with those implications. Of course, she knew their feelings, but they would not convey the idea that they were rushing into anything heavy. Abigail was still acclimating, with a sort of dutiful melancholy, to the idea of her parents living apart permanently, although she had commented to Hannibal in her usual young sage manner that she was grateful to see her dad smiling more than he usually ever did. So Will and Hannibal were “just friends” around her, but undeniably the five of them, Hannibal, Abigail, Rory, Rose and Will, felt right together as an easy, fun rapport developed among them, like magic, which for _Will_ felt too soon, confusing, too good to be true.

Will was prepared to do his best to end the tantrum, but Hannibal deftly crouched down to Rose’s level and said with a twinkle in his eyes, “I bet you can’t wait to find out what’s inside all those lovely presents, but guess what, Rose, I’ve got a problem and I need both your help right away. Do either of you know anything about how to hang up a piñata?”

Soon enough, the three kids were chatting together excitedly as they watched Hannibal string up the piñata, Rose taking her job as helper very seriously as she stood below with her plump little hands ready to catch it in case it fell. 

“Damn, that was hot,” Beverly commented as she helped Will to lay out plates and napkins at several tables for the kids’ school friends, who had started to arrive. “Does he do that all the time?”

“He’s really good at ending tantrums,” Will smiled, “And lots of other stuff, too.”

“I bet,” Bev winked, “And it looks like the kids have really bonded with Abigail; she’s so sweet!”

“Yeah, she’s wonderful; I love her already -- she’s smart and kind just like her dad. But I’m so worried, Beverly. I’ve broken every single rule I set out for myself about Hannibal; look at us! We’re attached at the hip, our kids are getting attached to each other, and we’re playing happy family as if this isn’t all gonna come to a screeching halt in a few weeks. I’ve lost control of my emotions and the entire situation, and somehow I like the feeling of surrendering to it all, but it’s going to end and when it does…I don’t know how I’ll get over it all.”

“It doesn’t seem so out of the question that you guys might actually belong together,” Bev reasoned, watching as Hannibal stepped behind the counter to follow Reggie’s lead in placing hot dogs and hamburgers in buns. “Maybe if you give it some time and see what happens, you’ll both find a way to work it out.”

Will watched Hannibal, noticing that he was so unassuming in his light tan suit, going with the flow of the event with his usual laid-back manners, so that even though he still seemed larger than life with his over-the-top handsomeness, even though the adult party guests were already beside themselves in an infatuated tizzy, plotting to get selfies with the celebrity, it did seem like he fit in, like he could belong in Will’s world, like despite all the glam and glitter and trappings of his career, he could just be a boyfriend, too. It was getting harder and harder for Will to convince himself their love was only an illusion, a fleeting, transitory fling. Instead, his relationship with Hannibal was beginning to feel, along with his love for the children, like the simplest, most irreversible truth that defined Will’s heart.

***

“I suppose I ought to ask you what your intentions are towards my son,” Reggie said thoughtfully, moving in fluid comradery with Hannibal as they stacked burgers.

He turned to take the basket of fresh fries out of the bubbling oil vat as Hannibal watched intently, learning a few tricks of the diner trade.

“Well, sir, I suppose I should mention that I am in love with Will,” Hannibal confided.

“So this is a serious relationship.” Reggie looked stern all of a sudden, causing Hannibal to tug at his shirt collar as he suddenly felt a bit nervous and overheated.

“I want it to be. We’re seeing where things will lead--”

“But you’re still married,” Reggie gestured at him with a spatula.

“Uhmm, yes, but soon to be divorced.”

“And you live in Canada; that vampire show of yours starts up filming again soon, right?”

“Well, yes, it does, but I want your son to stay in my life--”

“Do you? And what about what Will wants?”

“Whatever it is, I’ll give it to him, always,” Hannibal vowed, this answer coming much more easily. It was one of the only answers he actually knew.

“Damn right you will. That’s the first decent thing you’ve said since we started this conversation. This all seems too fast to me, maybe too unrealistic, and I don’t want to see my little boy get hurt again. See that rat bastard over there with the earring?” Reggie nodded at Frederick, who had entered the diner and was by now chatting up some of the school moms. 

Frederick had responded to Will’s anger about the interview with a classic midlife crisis move: he now had a tacky diamond sparkling in one ear. What was next, a leather jacket and motorcycle?

“Indeed.” Hannibal squinted in slight disbelief. He couldn’t imagine a man who had been stupid enough to be married to his prince only to treat Will badly and leave him in the dust, and even now, seeing the overly hair-gelled man in person again, he still couldn’t understand.

“Mm. Don’t be like him. Do the right thing for Will, whatever it is, even if it isn’t the thing that makes you happy in the long run. _Will_ is the priority, you understand?”

“I do.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that over with, can you -- damn!” Reggie’s eyes narrowed and his voice turned from congenial to worried as he looked to the diner entrance.

A half-stooped-over, sixty-something man walked in wearing a smile that lit up his grizzled face so that Hannibal thought he could see the remnants of a younger, hopeful man there just for a moment. 

“Who is that?” he asked as Reggie looked nearly panicked, exchanging _“SOS”_ looks with Robbie and Beverly.

Hannibal overheard Frederick saying too loudly to Will, voice dripping in accusing disapproval, “You invited _him_?”

“No,” Will whispered, looking so frightened that Hannibal himself nearly panicked. What was going on?

“That’s Travis, Will’s biological father,” Reggie muttered, “And he shouldn’t be here. He’s drunk.”

“I’ve got this,” Hannibal determined, rounding the counter and easily guiding the man back outside before the children noticed his ominous presence. “Come on, let’s go, okay?” 

“Who the hell are you?” Travis crowed, a delayed reaction as he suddenly seemed to realize he had allowed himself to be ushered away from the party. “This is my grandkids’ party; I saw them bringing in the decorations and presents. I should be here!”

“Perhaps so, yes, but first I think we’ll procure you some coffee. My name is Hannibal and I’m a friend of your son’s.”

“Will's got some swanky-sounding friends now, huh? What are you, Norwegian?”

“Lithuanian, and where are you from, then, sir?” Hannibal managed to help the other man into his Bentley, no simple feat given that the drunken fellow’s body felt heavy and stiff at the same time and he could hardly seem to move without stumbling.

As Hannibal slid the key into the ignition and Travis answered in his gravelly voice between coughs, “Wolf Trap born and raised,” the actor noticed Will standing by the large front window of the Blue Slate, staring out at him in dismay. He shot Will a reassuring smile, then took Travis to a nearby Starbucks and bought him a huge black coffee, listening to all of his rambling stories of woe.

According to Travis, he and his late wife Maddie had loved their son Will more than anything in the world, but they were both addicts and could never manage to break away from that life of slow self-destruction. Finally, they couldn’t stand to drag Will down with them, so that when the boy was nine, they allowed their close friends Robbie and Reggie to adopt him, knowing how the couple had always longed for a child. 

“We couldn’t see another way forward,” Travis admitted, rubbing at his eyes as time and caffeine started to sober him up. “It’s rough on Will because he remembers growing up, half his childhood with me and Maddie always falling out of bars, Robbie and Reggie having to pick us up, even from the police station a few times when we were caught drunk driving. He remembers us loving him and happy Christmases, too, and that’s all too confusing. It doesn’t go together, man, you know? Will’s whole childhood’s a mismatched quilt of memories.”

“It sounds as if you did the right thing to keep him safe, give him the chance for stability,” Hannibal observed, his head spinning at the thought of how Will must have struggled to understand so much during early childhood, how he must have felt torn between both sets of parents and abandoned by the first.

“I’m not an evil guy,” Travis shrugged, “I’m just weak, and Maddie, she was the same, drank herself into an early grave, Will sitting there by her bedside just asking why, why couldn’t you stop? After Maddie passed, Will stopped asking me that; it was like he finally understood. This was five years ago. Will’s face seemed to change then, too, and I was worried we finally ruined him, made him cynical, which was what we’d been trying to fight the whole time of his _existence._ We failed. That asshole ex-husband of his just made it worse, running around town on Will, what a scumbag.”

With regard to Frederick, Hannibal still could not fathom _why, how_ could anyone take one look at his prince and think that anyone else was worthy of the slightest attraction; how could a man be confronted with the option of protecting Will or knowingly hurting him and choose the latter? 

All of a sudden, as a heavy strain of wrath nearly tore him asunder, Hannibal could completely relate to Draven. Like his ever-violent and remorseless vampire alter-ego, Hannibal would love nothing more at this moment than to beat the life from Frederick. As far as he was concerned, that was what anyone deserved for mistreating Will, but he had to swallow back his anger, managing it with only a reddening in his cheeks, a tightening of his fists on the table, and the sting of frustrated tears in his eyes to betray the emotion. It sounded as if Will’s biological parents never meant to hurt him, but the perception of their abandonment, combined with that of Frederick -- it all made Will’s fear of love understandable.

Travis was still too caught up in explaining things to notice Hannibal’s sudden anger, so he just went on talking. “I worry that Will ended up with Frederick because he’s just used to being treated like a secondary concern...Rob and Reg obviously never treated him that way; they were the best parents he could want, much better than us, but...what if it’s your earliest memories that form your baseline ideas about life, conscious or not?”

Now that Travis was less drunk, Hannibal could see traces of Will’s quick intellect and sensitivity in his wane features, the frantic flow of his words over the broken mosaic of the past, the wreckage of the present. Hannibal felt he had the chance to be helpful here, so he forced his distracting rage towards Frederick down further, gathered himself and projected a presence of serenity.

“Do not worry so much. I’m a good guy, okay?” Hannibal raised his eyebrows and smiled gently. He was repeating the words which Reggie and Robbie had used to describe him, adding to his confidence to really believe it about himself. “I’ll take care of Will from now on. You should focus on getting yourself healthy.”

“I don’t like myself enough for that. I mean, going to that party?” Travis snorted a self-derisive laugh. “What the hell was I thinking? I never would have done that if I wasn’t wasted out of my damn mind; but whenever I’m drunk I seem to eventually turn up out outside that diner, staring at it trying to imagine a life where I still get to be a part of Will’s.”

“You’ve got to show Will you deserve to be part of it.” Hannibal couldn’t help thinking that this simple fact was so obvious to Reggie, but strangely elusive to Will’s biological father. 

“There’s the rub, buddy,” Travis grimaced, beating his chest lightly as he covered his mouth over another raspy cough, chest rattling, face still reddened. “I don’t believe I deserve that myself.”

***

“I can’t believe you had to deal with Travis,” Will groaned into his knees, curled up on the couch at Georgia’s house that night.

“It was no problem at all,” Hannibal smiled, sitting down beside Will and placing a plate of cheese, crackers and fruit on the coffee table beside their wine glasses.

Rory and Rose were sleeping over at their grandfathers’ house tonight and Abigail was back at the hotel with Bedelia, _trying_ to give her mother a very cool and remote second chance. Hannibal was relieved to have this extra time to devote to Will’s comfort. He could almost see the anxiety pouring off of his lover in waves, a cry for help which the younger man kept stifling. Didn’t Will know by now, that was what Hannibal was here for? To make it all okay again.

“Thank you,” Will said, lifting his face slightly to offer him a weak smile. “I guess you’re probably wondering why I never told you about my bio-parents.”

“I always thought that you would tell me about your childhood once you felt ready to; I’m sorry that the occasion was forced upon you like that. You looked terrified when Travis arrived at the party.”

“I have too many memories of ruined parties from my own childhood; I would never want Rose and Rory to be exposed to that. But today I just froze, I don’t know how I could have handled it if you hadn’t stepped in. My dads were completely astonished, too; maybe Bev and Brian would have helped, but -- listen, Hannibal. I’m glad you know. I wish I’d told you sooner, it just...it _hurts_ , so I never really talk about him. Travis. Sometimes I try to forget my first childhood as if my second one was the only one that counted.”

Hannibal put his arm around Will’s shoulders and the writer snuggled into his embrace, warm face pressed to his chest, arms clasped trustingly around him.

“I think you’re incredibly strong,” Hannibal murmured, running his fingers through soft curls and massaging Will’s neck, all the places he usually tensed up, until he relaxed with a long exhale.

“He’s so different from my real dads,” Will mused.

“Not so very different, maybe. All three of your dads despise your ex-husband.”

Will laughed. “Well, that’s just the basic prerequisite to being a divorced man’s dad in any capacity.”

“And I also promised all three of them that I was a good guy, that I would treat you well and take care of you.”

“Hmm.” Will craned his head back to look at Hannibal, gentle amusement in his face, but his voice was serious, reflective. “You _are_ a good guy, Hannibal.”

“Oh, why thank you.” He kissed Will’s lips, light and not presumptuous of more, just loving the closeness between them, wanting it always wrapped around them like a blanket. 

“Did you tell them that your intentions towards me are pure?” Will inquired archly, shifting onto Hannibal’s lap and cupping his face, thumbs grazing stubble as the actor’s body automatically responded to his inside-and-out beauty, never getting enough of his prince.

“Yes,” Hannibal smirked, his hands roaming up Will’s thighs to smooth over his ass.

“And...are they?” Will asked, leaning in to kiss his neck, knowing perfectly well that neck kisses were his biggest weakness, his utter undoing when it was Will’s mouth, sumptuous and warm turning to hot, sweet, clever tongue laving his needy skin, teeth gently nipping him before getting firmer…

“No. Never.” Hannibal bucked his hips slightly as his erection bulged, as ready as he always seemed to be for Will. 

“Excellent,” Will grinned at him, tossing his curls back like a halo, naughty angel that he was. 

Hannibal knew that Will would far rather have sex than talk any more about the troubles of his past, and he could not blame his lover for the feeling. In fact, Hannibal had spent the day trying to imagine what it would have been like, a childhood cleaved in half between the fear and confusion of living with neglectful or volatile addicts, and then finding the solace of love with two responsible and fully caring parents. The searing pain of rejection he must have experienced when Maddie and Travis gave him away, yet the relief at finally having stability, finally being treasured as he deserved. It made more sense to him now that Will regularly flinched back when Hannibal treated him as precious, willing to absorb his words of praise and promises of impossible indulgence only when they were naked together, and even then, often only if the actor spoke them in foreign tongues.

Hannibal’s love languages were intense, spread evenly between gifts, acts of service, words of affirmation and physical touch, and the chance to bestow all of these upon the altar of Will’s heart was a continual, obsessive temptation. He didn’t want to make Will uncomfortable, but he knew sometimes he did in the uncontrollable outpouring of his often needy affections, a craving to spoil Will, verbally extoll his lover’s beauty, and revel in the shyly fascinated responses, as if being needed by a man was a novelty which Will could never quite get used to. Allowing himself to belong to Will felt like coming home, no matter how fiercely the writer clung to the idea of their eventual separation. Sometimes Hannibal thought the expectation of September and his departure was the only reason Will let himself get this close, let Hannibal love him even if he wasn’t allowed to say the words and Will never even attempted to reciprocate the spoken sentiment, no matter how obvious it was.

From the hesitant glimmer of excitement in Will’s eyes and his laugh when Hannibal gave him presents, the ever-surprised eagerness with which Will tugged Hannibal down between his thighs and into the smallest, warmest, most tender parts of himself, Hannibal believed his lover knew the language of his love very well in his own way. Will knew that the suits, jewelry and fancy meals weren’t about showing off, that in the marking and claiming of his prince, the chance to drench Will in luxury, he was simply saying he loved him, as much as when he whispered it, rough and frightened with the force of emotion, into Will’s ear when he came, _“aš tave myliu,”_ and in the morning when Will had only just begun to stir from the thick, elusive blur of dreaming, again over dinner when he took his prince’s hand and stroked over his knuckles, saying it slowly, surely, “ _aš tave myliu, Will_.”

Will always nodded, accepting that Hannibal wanted to say it, unable to fully accept the truth of the phrase, yet the writer came to him so rapturously, wrapping himself around Hannibal and snuggling in tight, learning all the places on the actor’s body where he most loved to be touched, tasted and taken, asking him countless questions about his hopes, dreams, and past experiences, cringing automatically from ever mentioning the future. 

Over the week since Bedelia’s return Will had listened, with Hannibal’s head on his lap, fingers winding through his hair, as he tried to work out the way he felt. Hannibal was perplexed and even a little disturbed that he had gotten over his wife so quickly, since it proved to him he must not have wanted this marriage, not in years, but he had failed to admit it to himself, smothered under the heel of Bedelia’s control. He resented his own passivity, cherished the freedom he now felt in Will’s arms, finally able to breathe. 

Will had his doubts still, always thinking that Hannibal had merely rebounded to him because it was convenient and they had so much natural chemistry, good overall compatibility aside from the differences in their lifestyles and destinies, which as far as he was concerned would be their fully expected undoing. Yet he alluded to the doubts sparingly, trying to go easy on Hannibal and let the actor enjoy the fantasy until it shuddered back into the sand, a lovely castle almost cheerfully decimated by the carelessly sloughing wave of fate. 

And so Will let Hannibal be with him, gave the actor whole-hearted understanding, passion and most unforgettably submission to his often excessive whims, dressing Will up and showing him off in front of his work colleagues and the rich patrons of every five star restaurant in the vicinity -- no need to fear being seen now that their cover was blown. In fact, even Jack had agreed it was better to act unashamed, as they had done nothing wrong. So, Hannibal offered just a wink and a dismissive wave to the paparazzi as he used his body to shield Will against the flashing cameras, used his grip on the younger man’s hand and his steering influence to alleviate Will’s discomfort at the attention and violation of the tabloid scoop-seekers who seemed to always be chomping at their heels. 

Will didn’t want attention, only respect for his hard work and natural talent, only to be free of the financial constraints on his life and able to make the best possible childhood for Rory and Rose, but he came to love _Hannibal’s_ attention even if he denied himself full acknowledgement of its source. Hannibal’s indulgence kink, their romantic rendition of daddy and baby, began to turn Will on more and more until it became one more tie binding them together in a mutual understanding which no one outside their two minds and hearts could ever understand because it was just theirs, the spoiling and the praise and the excess of it all, a rollercoaster car hurtling them through this love, upside down and downside up, making more sense together than he ever could have imagined.

Perhaps Hannibal should have known this would happen the first day they met, when he saw how sassy and sexy and _alive_ Will was, raging emotion churning in the younger man’s eyes to match his own restless fever until it blended together. Being with Bedelia had left Hannibal thinking that love was about chasing a dream you never got to touch, the nobility of a devotion fully warranted but never returned, and now he was learning all sorts of truths, such as that life with Bedelia had nothing whatsoever to do with real love. Such as he wanted to be with Will forever, no matter how long he had to wait, and the waiting would not come from his partner’s pleasure in drawing out his patience and torturing him with small fits of incentive in the matter -- that was Bedelia’s game. The waiting would come because Will’s life had been hard and he was broken in places Hannibal was not. He had to understand that, let Will open up to him in his own time, but the actor recognized that he could be hasty too, and often worried he was going to push Will away in the impetuous tumult of his haste. 

So far, even though Will wouldn’t let Hannibal say how much he loved him, he thought Will knew. And for now, that was enough.

In this moment, Will’s smile was like a sunrise after the rainiest deluge of a bleakly rotten night, his hands digging into Hannibal’s shoulders finding safety and arousal all at once, in the same place, Hannibal’s heart, where Will belonged. Hannibal didn’t pry his way any further into Will’s history tonight, instead making slow, languorous love until Will could feel eased by the sweat-drenched throes of pleasure, eased back into his arms as they cuddled naked under the blankets, watching old movies and snacking absent-mindedly until they fell asleep with the same careless drift into each other. His embrace was hotly snug and protective and Will gave him the same, kissing Hannibal’s chest before his tired face slumped against it, and despite the impermanence of the setting and the looming end of summer, there it was again: they were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, oh yes, the truth about Will's fanfic will come out! 😳 Hope you enjoyed the update, and have a wonderful week!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief references to het sex (lol) in Will's fanfiction.

One Sunday morning -- August 28th to be exact, but Will didn’t want to be -- Will sidled up behind Hannibal while the older man sat finishing his breakfast. He could never get over the sight of Hannibal Lecter, his superstar boyfriend, sat at his worn-out table with crayon stains on it, Hannibal the glamorous tv vampire now with bedhead and decked out only in Will’s own robe, looking damn good in the scant attire, but heart-meltingly cozy, too.

He was about to do something bold, while he still could, something to maybe make the relationship seem less surreal. In his own small but significant way, step by step, Will was trying to let down his defenses. He slid his tablet onto the table with a shaking hand, placing it beside Hannibal’s hand as the actor looked up at him in curiosity. 

“Some reading for me?” Hannibal asked, glancing down at the screen which showed the Blood Law Paralegal archives, and specifically the story _You are the nocturnal dread (and the peace that comes with scarlet daylight)_ by BloodsoakedSecrets1975.

“Yes,” Will said, nervous as hell. He sank into the chair beside Hannibal and fidgeted with the tablet, meaninglessly nudging it back and forth with his fingers as his cheeks flamed. “This is...a story that I wrote before we met. It’s about Draven, and, and, well. Rosamunda. It’s a romantic fanfiction...with some -- ahem -- erotica. And this is a type of writing I do a lot of in my free time. It’s something that’s a part of who I am, and so I don’t want you to find out about this from someone else, like Freddie or Bedelia. The way things have gone lately, I never know what either of them has up their evil sleeves…”

“Will,” Hannibal said, soft and serious, covering Will’s trembling hand with his own. “Thank you for offering to show me this. But do you _want_ me to read it? I’m very flattered,” he added with the sweetest smile that made Will’s worried heart fill with relief and joy. “I’d love to read it. But I don’t want to do so if it will make you uncomfortable.”

“I think I want...to trust you with this,” Will decided, stopping just short of admitting to either of them, _I think I want to trust you with me._ “I’d like for you to read it, Hannibal, and...tell me what you think or not.” He laughed, still a bit anxious and shrugged.

“Wonderful,” Hannibal answered, looking quietly delighted and more than a little intrigued. “I have the whole day free, and I can hardly wait to begin.”

“Oh! You mean, you’re going to read it right now?” Will turned redder and Hannibal pressed a kiss to his hot cheek. 

“Certainly, as long as you approve.” Hannibal took out a pair of the cutest reading glasses Will had ever seen, which had been tucked into the pocket of the borrowed robe. He put the glasses on and held up the tablet, sipping his coffee as if blithely embarking on a bit of fun reading, without much idea of what to expect. “How can I resist reading a story by my favorite writer?” he added slyly, sensing that Will’s eyes were still glued to his profile.

“I’ll just, uhh..give you some time to read, then,” Will mumbled, dropping a kiss to Hannibal’s cheek and squeezing his hand gently.

He went out to the shed and dragged out a few really beyond-the-pale boat parts he’d been procrastinating on fixing up for the vessel he distantly hoped to build one day. 

_It’s okay, it’s perfectly fine, it’s only a story._ He played the mantra over and over in his mind until the words blurred, and by then he had his tools and boat parts arranged on the back deck, ready for him to get started in tinkering on the job that had no real end in sight, and was therefore perfect to kill a few hours.

Then he set up his phone and speakers, turning on his classic rock playlist and trying to tune out his suspense with Fleetwood Mac, Rolling Stones and a wrench.

***

Will labored out back most of the day, and by mid-afternoon Hannibal appeared with a tray of fresh lemonade and sandwiches, looking completely calm and composed. Will looked up at him as if he was a mirage wearing an adorable polo shirt and tan shorts, his perfect fantasy of a house husband. 

“You look extremely fetching like this,” Hannibal smirked suggestively, setting the food down on the table across the deck from where Will was sprawled with his tools and an old engine. 

There was oil on Will’s hands and another streak of it across his brow. He was sweating like crazy because it was 80-something degrees and wondering what Hannibal thought of _You are the nocturnal dread_ made it feel more like 105. His white t-shirt was glued to his skin, and Hannibal’s eyes followed his every motion hungrily as he sat up and wiped his brow with a cloth. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Will flirted brazenly, emboldened by Hannibal’s saucy behavior. “I take it from your mood that the story didn’t offend you?”

“ _Offend_ me?” Hannibal asked as Will walked lazily over to him, then sank right into his lap as big, strong arms encircled him. “Thus far, it has had a profound effect on me, but _that_ is not the right word for it.”

“Oh,” Will realized, rocking his hips gently against Hannibal’s groin and the hardness he found there. “Really?”

“Really,” Hannibal purred, reaching up to tug his hair.

“Well, are you going to do something about that?” Will was essentially begging to be fucked hard here and now, caressing Hannibal through his shirt, finding a hard nipple and circling it teasingly. “Oh, no, sorry,” he winced, having gotten so turned on he forgot his hands were dirty, and he’d gotten a streak of oil on Hannibal’s shirt along with the moan he evoked from his lover’s lips.

“I don’t care,” Hannibal growled, tugging his hair again, squeezing his ass as Will moaned. 

They kissed, wet, hot and shameless, until they came up for air and Will whispered, “So where did you leave off? In the story?”

“I’m in the middle of Chapter 15,” he replied gruffly, confirming Will’s suspicions.

Ah yes, Chapter 15, which contained the first sex scene...writing this part of the story after a slow burn build-up had been so vivid an experience for Will that he still had some paragraphs memorized:

“ _Draven hurries to untie her feet before returning his lips to her almost-sore pussy, preparing her right before he strokes against her again, getting rock hard with the sensation. ‘Draven,’ Rosamunda gasps as he plunges his thick cock back inside her, gliding in to the hilt, then sinking his fangs into her neck to drink deeply of her sweetly forbidden hybrid blood. The leather cuffs rub against her wrists with the force of his thrusting, sensations which combine with the stinging gush at her neck and the slick, heated lapping of his tongue to make her cry out in a rush of euphoria that treacherously skates the edge of despair. For all his promises of indifference and imperviousness to her charms, he cannot meet her emerald eyes as they flash, every alpha urge within her screaming to turn the tables and take control of him instead of letting him claim and dominate her. All in good time, she promises herself. The tumultuous passion he represses from his amber gaze only accumulates, ratcheting up between them as he’s slamming into her so hard that the iron headboard smacks against the wall with a repeated clang, and there's only so much more of that which either of them can take before coming, sweat-soaked and spent.”_

Really, there was nothing about Will’s prose that was any nastier than your standard paperback romance novel, few things in the story that he hadn’t already _done_ with Hannibal in real life anyway (well, except for the whips, paddles, bondage, candle wax and _oh god_ , the _double penetration_!) and no reason to think Hannibal would be anything but flattered by the fact that Will had a raging, highly sexual crush on him before they met. 

Yet he had worried himself into a near frenzy about this issue for so long. And now Hannibal was reading the story, it was hard to believe how _easy_ things were going.

“I know I made it evident that I had certain...feelings about your, well...physique,” Will murmured, batting his lashes, shy and coquettish at the same time.

It was so obvious from Will’s luridly detailed, long, long, _long_ , besotted description of Draven’s naked body that this had been the case. Later on, Will had kicked himself for not spending an equal amount of time gushing about Rosamunda’s beautiful body, which certainly warranted admiration, but he just hadn’t been nearly as interested. Due to this oversight and the resulting imbalance in the narrative, it couldn’t have been clearer as to which character had the writer totally obsessed.

“I only hope I can live up to expectations,” Hannibal answered huskily, tracing Will’s lips. He was blushing a little, Will was sure it wasn’t just the heat.

“You’re so much better than any fantasy, Hannibal.” Will cupped his face, leaving more faint streaks of oil, which looked absolutely stunning on the slightly sweat-damp canvas of that beautiful face, the sharp cheekbones and kiss-swollen lips.

Hannibal’s eyes were wet and he nodded, lost for words for several moments until he kissed Will again, softly. “I want to keep reading,” he laughed gently, “But first we should clean up and have lunch.”

“But,” Will whined, pouting, “Daddy. I thought that after all that flirting and how hard you are…”

“I think it will be even better if we wait until I finish the story,” Hannibal grinned, clearly in his naughtiest mood. “And furthermore, you have been working all morning. You must have something to eat, I won’t have you fainting again.”

Will groaned. “O _kay_. But you know I only fainted because I had encephalitis.”

“Mmhmm. Well, rest assured that in a few hours I will render you unconscious in the best way,” Hannibal said lightly, opening the screen door for them to go in and wash the oil from their hands and faces.

“That’s kind of vague,” Will shrugged, running water in the bathroom sink and pumping soap into his hands. “Whatever do you mean?”

Hannibal smirked at the way Will met his naughtiness in equal measure. He grabbed Will around the waist from behind and pressed the younger man’s body hard against his own, muttering in his ear, “I mean that I intend to fuck you, _hard_ , until you black out, Will.”

Will glanced at their reflections in the mirror as a wanton moan escaped his lips. His own face was beet red and Hannibal’s flushed and intense. “Was that clear enough?” the actor inquired.

“Y-yes,” Will nodded, so hard he just didn’t know how he was possibly going to wait “a few hours.” 

“Wonderful.” Hannibal washed his own hands, then dabbed at their faces with a warm cloth until they were all freshened up. “In that case, let’s go and have lunch.”

***

“Will,” Hannibal whispered in the dead of night, gently nudging and kissing his lover’s shoulder.

“Hmmm? What?” 

Will squinted over at the alarm clock and groaned. He had waited all afternoon and evening for Hannibal to finish reading and get down to business, but his lover was a careful, slow reader, determined to soak in the meaning of every damn sentence while he sat around in those cute fucking glasses driving Will more and more insane with desire. Finally, Will had fallen asleep without meaning to, and now he blinked up at Hannibal in confusion.

“Hannibal, what is it with you and 3am? Is there some demon that awakens in your soul proclaiming that _this_ is the time to talk?”

“It’s 3:37,” Hannibal argued smoothly, “And I’m just wondering.... _now_ can we talk about the story?”

“Huh?” Will flipped from his side onto his back, swiping the curls back from his face and looking up at Hannibal in the shadows, where the actor hovered over him with a smug smile. He was so sleepy he had to take a minute to remember exactly what was going on.

“Your story, my prince.” Hannibal flashed a teasing smile. “ _You are the nocturnal dread and the peace that comes with scarlet daylight._ ”

“Did you memorize that whole title?”

“Oh, darling, I think I might have memorized the whole entire story.”

“Really?” Will stared at him in wonderment, although he could see little aside from the sculpted shadows in his cheekbones and the sparkle in his eyes. “So now that you’ve read the whole thing...you’re still not...offended?”

“Now, where shall we begin with all of that? You’ve said a mouthful. Let’s see…” He traced a finger over the curves of Will’s face, then down his arm until the writer twitched, distracted by overruling attraction, and bit his lip. “You really have a flair for writing erotica, Will. I was entirely drawn into the narrative.”

“I...well, I always thought it was just a silly story, even a little...ridiculous. But I couldn’t seem to help writing it.”

“Oh, Will.” Hannibal tipped Will’s face back towards him and clucked his tongue. “It’s not silly or ridiculous. That story is _fantastic_ ; you are an amazing writer. I couldn’t put it down, but I confess it isn’t only your impressive literary skills which had me hooked. It’s wondering…”

He rolled on top of Will, easily spreading the younger man’s thighs so he could rest between them, letting just enough of his weight pin Will to the bed to create a strong sense of erotic intent that immediately made Will’s body go softly compliant. Clasping Will’s face in his hands, he added, “It’s wondering, did you really write all of those things about how I looked, and conjure the idea of me engaged in such acts before we even met? I’m curious, especially about the encounters you described in Chapters 46, 53, and 56--”

“In my own defense, during Chapter 56 Draven and Rosamunda were under the thrall of the Dark Enchantress, a heavy aphrodisiac trance,” Will put in meekly.

“Excuses, excuses,” Hannibal chided, placing his hands over Will’s wrists and moving them above his head. “No escape now, Will. Tell me if those acts you described in the story are really what you like. What you would like to have done to you, what you would like to do.”

It was 3…:42, sure, but they were both wide awake now.

“Maybe? I never thought I would actually _do_ some of that stuff, or have a partner who wanted-- I mean, yes, you inspired me to write about it, and I used to think about you…” Will was so red in the face that he was immensely grateful the lights were off. “It was inappropriate; you were a stranger.”

“But Draven wasn’t.”

“He wasn’t real, either. You don’t think it seems kind of unhinged of me to have all of this lust for a fictional character?”

“Not if I’m playing him, dear prince.” Hannibal leaned in to kiss his neck slowly, maintaining a firm grip on Will’s hands as he dug his teeth in slightly, nudging his natural fangs into Will’s smooth, sensitive skin until the younger man moaned, bucking his hips, and Hannibal smiled as he licked the light puncture marks. 

“How could anyone not want to do those things with you?” Hannibal questioned, kissing across Will’s collarbone, “Tie you up, deny you orgasm for hours until you’re sweat-soaked and begging, test your responses to toys and pain alongside pleasure. It’s _exactly_ what a nice boy like you deserves, Will. Although, I’m the only one who is allowed to do it. Is that right?”

“Mmm,” Will sighed, closing his eyes as Hannibal lavished that insatiable mouth on the other side of his neck, holding him in place. 

Then Hannibal started grinding into Will, the hard, hot slide of the actor’s desire against the younger man’s soft thigh making Will dreamily, blissfully aroused. Will’s rigidly alert nipples poked through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, dragging against Hannibal’s bare chest as he moved, all the friction causing Will to tilt his head up with a _decidedly_ unhinged mewl.

“That’s my good boy,” Hannibal murmured, reaching down beneath the hem of Will’s oversized shirt. “So hard for me, baby, already. And no panties. Perfect angel.”

Jesus, no one had ever called Will’s plain underwear “panties” before, but something about it, and about the gravel in Hannibal’s voice, the darkness in his eyes, made Will moan even louder.

 _Perfect._ No, Will wasn’t, but when he was tangled up in Hannibal, for the first time in his life it didn’t seem to matter, as if by sheer force of will Hannibal could sublimate the writer’s harsh, never-satisfied perfectionism. Hannibal led Will to a place where he could somehow let go of everything else but the dizzying pleasure it was to love him, to belong to him and believe, even temporarily, he could be that wanted in return.

“Hannibal,” he gasped, worshipful, squirming to try and get arms around him.

“Did I say you could move?” Hannibal asked, a bossy lilt to his tone that almost made Will come then and there. 

The writer’s aching cock grew even harder as Hannibal reached over to turn the lamp on, casting a rosy haze over the bed. “I want to look at you, and you’re going to look into my eyes. You’re going to see exactly how the feel of you makes me react. Understand?”

Will wasn’t even sure how he managed to assent, but there seemed to have been a shaky nod accompanied by a hapless moan, and soon enough their eyes were locked together, one of Will’s legs flung over Hannibal’s shoulder as the actor took him fierce and deep, the best feeling Will had ever known. With his harder pressure and control over Will and the harsh insistence in his eyes, he gave Will safety, flooded the younger man with gratitude at the unaccustomed sensation, and…how could he have _known_ you could feel a church-like reverence for a man in unison with such unruly, decadent erotic fervor? 

_All that time, I thought you were just a dream._ Maybe Will still wasn’t sure.

Hannibal planted one hand on Will’s throat, choking him as he drove into him relentlessly, knowing just the right moment to stop -- when the edges of Will’s mind were blurred by the rising tumult of incoming pleasure and his pupils grew large, his mouth wide open in mute ecstasy -- he was about to come, but Hannibal was going to make him wait. When he moved Will to all fours this time he was rough, spanking Will so hard he could barely stay upright, fucking him so deeply he’d be feeling it for days. There were some ragged mutters wherein a safeword was decided upon for rough sex, Hannibal grinning when Will suggested “Red of course -- _Blood_ Red.”

“Is this what you like?” Hannibal asked, tugging Will’s ear with his teeth as he awaited the answer.

Will’s ass was smarting and sure to be marked with the older man’s handprint, his whole body riveting in the throes of pleasure as his desire continued dripping onto the sheets and Will cried out raspily, “Yes! Yes, please, please, please…”

With every breathless plea he tore from Will’s lips, Hannibal gave another hot, harsh thrust. Then Will came and Hannibal rocked him through it until the younger man’s cries, coupled with the tightening grip of his body, made Hannibal come apart. It was a good thing because by then Will was losing the feeling in his fingers and wrists from trying to hold onto the bedding with all his might. But when Hannibal's hips slapped against his ass, his hands tight on Will's hips as he rode out his pleasure, his seed buried deep inside Will and his grunts of satisfaction growing louder than Will had ever heard from him, Will didn't care about anything else; this must be the most exquisite form of total bodily exhaustion that was possible. 

“I’m going to do every single one of those things to you that you wrote about in that wonderful story, my darling prince,” Hannibal said intently when it was over and they lay in a post-coital daze strong enough to have been triggered by the Dark Enchantress herself.

“Well, some of them you have to do to _me_ ,” he corrected himself as Will giggled, roving his fingers fondly through the older man’s chest hair, then down his belly. 

“Oh!” Hannibal added with delighted inspiration, “And also, for some of those acts you so charmingly described in such excessive detail, we will need additional supplies. Dildos of various sizes, vibrators, restraints, riding crops and paddles...candle wax...”

“You’re right,” Will laughed, sliding back up the bed to look at his adorkably sexy face, to toy with the thick, silvery locks of his hair. “I can’t believe you’re really okay with that story. I tore myself up over telling you or not telling you since we met, and you’re fine with it!”

“I’m much better than fine with it, I’m absolutely enchanted,” Hannibal retorted merrily. “And incidentally, are you free after your 2:00 class on Tuesday? Can you go to the park with me?”

“What? You’re so random,” Will laughed, his heart bursting with fondness. 

Will kissed Hannibal’s cheek, then his neck, way too happy in this moment to think any more deeply about the days to come. “I mean, yes, the kids have camp until five, so the afternoon is free until then.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal smiled, turning the lamp off again and snuggling in with the clear intention of going back to sleep. “Goodnight then, baby.”

“Mmm, night, Daddy.” Will collapsed easily into their usual spooning position, naked and delighted. He hadn't immediately blacked out after coming, but Hannibal had most _definitely_ knocked him out. He didn't think he could move an inch or wake all the way back up again if he wanted to. 

Somewhere deep in the recesses of his heart and mind, common sense kept trying to reassert itself, but all it could manage were the tiniest whispered warnings, _29 now, don’t forget, Will,_

_August 29,  
30_

_And then you’ll never see him again._

Will took the calendar in his mind’s eye and crumpled it up into a ball, then stomped on it for good measure and set it on fire, the mental imagery working well to soothe him into a pleased and lingering slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original version of this chapter contained a whole long series of events, involving Bedelia reading an excerpt from Will's story aloud in front of the entire cast and crew of the movie. Of course, Hannibal had the opposite reaction from what Bedelia wanted, yet it was still harrowing for Will to be exposed in that way. And since writing that first version of the story, I've expanded the Freddie/article plot quite a bit. This made me feel, when I returned to this chapter, that another humiliation for Will was just too much. It was tough because I was attached to parts of the original chapter, but ultimately I felt it would better serve the story to put the power of revealing the story into Will's hands for a softer, sweeter version. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. ❤️


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note that there is some angst in this chapter, but it is the _last_ angst before the happy ending. After this, we'll have a last chapter followed by an epilogue, both very fluffy.

“It’s beautiful here,” Will breathed, enjoying the way the affirmation brought a prideful smile to Hannibal’s face. 

Hannibal straightened his shoulders a little as if he’d been waiting for Will’s approval of the park, which made Will wonder why he was so worked up about this afternoon. The writer looked from his sweet, sunshiny face to the verdant lawn extending downhill to a picturesque gazebo, and further along to a small beach. There was an ice cream truck, kids frolicking around, picnic tables populated by checkers and chess players, and plenty of couples wandering hand in hand or lunching. In the distance behind them, Will could hear old-timey organ music from the vintage carousel.

“How did you find out about this place?” he asked.

Hannibal took Will’s hand, clutching a large, woven basket in his free one, adjusting his grip with that same strange tremor of anticipation. “I did a bit of research,” he explained, “I had a certain idea of the sort of place I wanted to take you.”

“For...lunch?” Will wondered as the actor led the way to a flat area under the wide branches of an ancient-looking, yet sturdy oak tree.

“For lunch,” he winked, whipping a blanket from the basket and spreading it on the ground as Will helped him, shooting him ever more curious looks.

Hannibal opened the basket and started arranging a series of white ceramic plates, cloth napkins, and a variety of well-packed, small Tupperware containers, followed by a pair of wine tumblers.

“I swear, if you pull a bottle of champagne out of that basket, you can officially color me impressed,” Will enthused.

“Aha, observe” he said, procuring two mini-bottles of Veuve Clicquot, expertly popping the corks before pouring the crisply aromatic drinks, carefully tilting the cups so the foam wouldn’t overflow and spill. 

The day was very warm, but not quite hot, and every now and then the tiniest hint of a cooler breeze would drift across them, more than just the ocean breeze; it felt like a preview of the coming fall. 

As Will took the cup from Hannibal, admiring the excited gleam in his amber eyes and the lush sweep of his ever-rebellious hair across his brow, the goofy grin that he couldn’t seem to wipe from his face, and the way his navy polo shirt hugged his upper body, the writer tried very hard to think of these wonderful sights and the delicious cuisine they were about to enjoy on this exquisite afternoon, and not at all about summer ending, _no_ , not that, at any cost.

Hannibal and Abigail were flying to Vancouver first thing tomorrow morning; Will was driving them to the airport. Bedelia had left, with more of a whimper than a bang, the day before, headed to LA to film a charity concert. After that, she would move into the house she had purchased for herself in Vancouver so that she and Hannibal would be living close by enough for co-parenting Abigail. 

“What _is_ all this?” Will laughed to dispel the notion of tomorrow, most of all that there ever had to be one and that this fantasy of their life together couldn’t just go on and on forever, one everlasting, perfect day.

“It’s our picnic, of course,” Hannibal shrugged, starting to peel the lids from the food containers, plating the gourmet-looking items with careful attention, arranging the colors of fruits, vegetables and cheeses as if he was painting Will a picture.

“Because it’s the 30th?” Will babbled. _No, don’t bring that up!_ No matter how many times he tried to ignore it, the thought just kept coming back up like the sick remnants of an allergic reaction to life, and now it was out there in the air between them. Blushing and trying not to cry, he added, “And you wanted us to have a special last--”

“Shhh,” Hannibal soothed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about the date.”

“Did you make all this food yourself?” Will recovered, sniffing back the tears he hadn’t let through, doing his best to save them for tomorrow, once Hannibal had boarded the plane. 

“Yes, I did my best to include all of the most popular American picnic foods, mini-hot dogs and burgers, potato and macaroni salad, fruit salad, goodness there seem to be a lot of salads involved with this tradition in your country.”

Will chuckled, “Yeah, there are.”

“...And a charcuterie,” Hannibal concluded neatly.

It was more food than the two of them could possibly finish in one sitting, and Will knew that cooking was Hannibal’s stress expression -- if the actor was anxious, he would start cooking, and cooking, until there was a _ton_ of delicious gourmet food and Hannibal finally felt better.

Today, the gift of this meal and the lovely setting made Will feel better, too.

_I couldn’t ask for more, couldn’t wish for a better memory of our last date._

“Thank you so much,” Will said emphatically, warmly, referring to so much more than the picnic.

Hannibal nodded, lost in thought for a moment, reaching carefully for his cup of champagne, then lifting it with slow precision.

“Why are you handling that cup as if it’s a newborn baby?” Will asked.

“I’m afraid I’ll spill if I’m not careful,” Hannibal confided, “Shaky hands. I suppose I’m a little nervous.”

It occurred to Will that he was trying to make the best of things too, cradling this day as if it was incredibly fragile, knowing the end of it might shatter their resolve to be sensible in the morning, put on brave faces for the kids and each other, then carry on with their lives.

Will covered his hand with a soft smile. “Is there dessert?”

“I think we should go over to that ice cream truck after lunch and find out what their most absurdly over-the-top sundae is, share it and then never, ever tell your dads we cheated on them.”

After they savored a turtle sundae on a bench down by the sea, Hannibal nodded to the carousel. “Come on, we’ve got to try it out.”

“What? But...we don’t have the kids with us. I’m all grown up,” Will insisted, “Carousels are just for looking at or taking Rory and Rose on. I’d look silly.”

“Carousels are for riding on and dreams are for dreaming,” Hannibal retorted easily. “Cheesy? Yes, but true? Always.”

“But--”

“Ah-ah-ah, are you coming? Or are you going to make me do this alone?” Hannibal quirked a brow, reaching a hand out for Will’s.

He really was determined to treat Will like a prince to the last. Although Will felt very silly indeed, he wanted to let Hannibal do so, knowing perfectly well that for all the younger man’s protestations Will was just as thrilled at the flight of childish fancy. 

The carousel had originally been constructed circa 1895, as a decorative plaque informed them when they entered the building filled with echoed laughter. Hannibal purchased enough tokens for them to ride several times, then prompted, “Well, now, which horsey are you going to try first?”

“Are you for real?” Will sighed, looking around to see if any fellow adults were shooting him judgmental looks. 

To his surprise, no one batted an eyelash at the two of them as they settled into their noble, extravagantly decorated steeds side by side; there were actually several other couples on the carousel in addition to the kids and parents. Will had to wonder, did people _do_ this? Was this just some part of adult life that he hadn’t known was an option, to open himself up to innocent fun again, like that was actually allowed and okay? Maybe he’d just been pessimistically uptight for so long that he’d forgotten how to let go and _live_. 

“Still think I’m ridiculous?” Hannibal teased, reaching over to tug the strap around Will’s torso a little more securely, then running his finger underneath it to caress Will’s stomach, setting loose the butterflies who lived there, habitually obeying his every command.

“I still think your ridiculousness is what I like best about you,” Will confessed, neatly side-stepping a more ardent profession in a way that Hannibal was already used to, even seemed resigned to.

The carousel moved along at a quicker pace than Will had expected, tilting the word around them into a blur of colors and lights, the flashes of blue sky through the small windows, the gorgeously curated and restored pastel coloring on the complicated carvings of the horses, rabbits, and carriages pivoting to the Victorian classics pulsating out from the automated organ. Every part of the carousel was a work of art, making Will feel light as air, laughing, staring into Hannibal’s eyes like it was also okay to be two adults acting as immaturely enamored with each other as love-addled thirteen year olds on a chaperoned first date.

“And now, I think, a carriage ride for my prince,” he invited, helping Will down from his horse with a liberal sweep of his hands over Will’s hips and ass which the younger man was fairly certain would have been frowned upon if the carousel attendants had been paying attention. 

Will’s heart squeezed helplessly at the comfortably natural way Hannibal covered him in compliments and treats, the way Hannibal tried to make every day a little adventure for him.

“Hey,” Will realized as they slid into their seats in the open-air carriage, looking around at the totally unfazed faces of everyone else here, “Why isn’t anyone all over you, asking for pics and autographs? I can’t believe it took me this long to notice!”

“Ah, that would be because I paid them all off to leave us alone,” Hannibal explained casually. “Every time someone comes into the park while we are here today, Phil passes them a small cash incentive to give us some space. And confiscates their phone, of course. They get it back when they leave.”

“Everyone? How much are you paying them that they’re actually willing to let a celebrity exist among them unbothered? Don’t you think it’s kind of a waste of--”

“What would happen if you stopped worrying?” Hannibal asked with a husky, adoring chuckle, “Just for five minutes, Will? It doesn’t matter. Not something I would normally do, but today is special. It’s well worth it to me, and so are you, as always. Okay?”

“O _kay_ ,” Will groaned, smiling as he snuggled into Hannibal’s arm. 

Will had gotten lost in the lovely magic of it all for another minute or so when Hannibal leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Will. Look up.”

Casting his eyes aloft, Will was captivated by the intricate mechanisms of the bars twisting over each other to move the horses along, by the hard-carved wooden figures of circus animals which populated the enormous display at the center of the carousel.

“And...now look down,” Hannibal added, kissing Will’s ear as the younger man let his eyes drift lazily downward, and then all of a sudden a breath caught in his throat.

Hannibal was holding out a white-gold engagement ring, an elegant pave band set off by a sparkling pear-shaped diamond. 

Before the shock had fully set in, Will had time to notice that the ring was dainty and simple, completely unpretentious, pretty and sweet, but by the clarity and size of the gem, there could be no doubt it cost more than Will probably ever wanted to know.

Then for just another second he got lost in the idea of what he really wanted to do, which was to marry Hannibal and live happily ever after, and he had to get quick hold of himself before this line of thinking led to total disaster. This realization, that Hannibal had put him in the position of managing this proposal, being the one to crush the actor’s hopes out of irrefutable necessity, threw Will into a molten rage.

“What are you doing?” Will asked, trembling as Hannibal smiled at him with that same guileless enthusiasm. _Why_ , why hadn’t fame and previous heartbreak left him cynical like they obviously should have, as they would have rendered anyone else a jaded, self-serving prick? Instead he was--

And Will--

“Will Graham,” Hannibal began, very seriously, and it was so adorable Will wanted to tear this whole place apart, and in fact, for the first time he wished he had never met Hannibal. “Will you--”

“Stop,” Will interrupted. “Stop!” He yelled to the carousel attendant as they passed the booth.

“What are you doing?” Hannibal asked, finally catching on. His face fell.

“How could you do this to me?” Will demanded as Hannibal’s reaction only served to increase his misery.

Will shook his head as the ride came to a halt, then he fumbled out of the carriage, rushing away as fast as his feet could carry him.

Hannibal caught up with Will by the time he reached the smoothly sanded wooden railing overlooking the beach, and touched his arm, asking breathlessly, “Will, what’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong_?” Will tried not to shout, but God, it was hard. “It's our last day together, Hannibal! Now this is all I’m going to remember, you asking me to marry you and me saying no.”

“No?” Hannibal’s heart fell, the emotion tormentingly visible in his eyes. He tucked the ring back into his pocket. “But I haven’t even asked you yet.”

The world was disintegrating. The last thing Will ever wanted to do was hurt him, and Hannibal was _making_ him do it. Will licked his lips, sucking on the lower one in what had long been an anxious habit, especially comforting lately since there were plenty of indentations in his lip from Hannibal’s teeth in addition to his own. But not for long. 

“You know I can’t say yes! Why are you even asking me? Hannibal, two months ago you’d never even met me. We barely know each other. You’ve still got a tan line from your wedding ring!”

“I--” Hannibal put his hands on his hips, aggravated by this tirade. “So what? Sometimes life isn’t always neat and tidy but when you know you want to spend the rest of it with someone, it’s still right to say so. Please, I don’t want to fight. I’m trying to fix things so that we can _have_ this, get to keep it, forever.”

“This can’t be fixed,” Will insisted, “I don’t belong in your world and I’d never fit in, we would make each other miserable, because by the way you don’t know the half of my bad, annoying habits and qualities and I don’t know yours. Right now, we’re infatuated--”

“Infatuated?” Hanibal scoffed. “Is that what you think this is? Do you think something like what we have between us comes along anytime, that it’s ordinary?” 

“What more could it be? When we first met, you’d just been dumped, and you were so sad, Hannibal, lost, _devastated_ over losing Bedelia.”

“Yes, I was like that when you first met me, because for years I’d been sleepwalking through a nightmare, but you woke me up...” Hannibal stood before Will, his voice tenderly beseeching. “Please don’t say we’re strangers or this was just convenient; you don’t have to be with me, but at least be honest about why you don’t want to.”

“You keep moving too fast, knowing that it’s too fast, that I can’t handle it, but you just keep pushing me anyway, boundaries be damned, because it’s what you want! You think I’m going to marry you on the rebound, do that to Abigail, who hasn’t even had a chance to adjust to her parents being divorced, because oh, yeah -- you’re not divorced yet!”

“I’m not suggesting that we elope, Will!” Hannibal fell back into his habit of pacing to straighten out his tangled emotions, returning to Will a bit calmer as he continued, “And I don’t mean to disrespect your boundaries, it’s just that...before I met you, I didn’t even know what love was, or I never would have stayed in that marriage as long as I did. Trust me, I had no idea what love felt like.” He dared to take Will’s hands, caressing the younger man’s fingers as he added, “Did you?”

“We’re not in love.” Will meant his voice to come out cold, cruel to be kind at last, but his heart wasn’t having it. The words were broken, sour and immense. Will tasted his own wretched sense of utter defeat.

“Okay. Okay.” Hannibal released him, then stepped back and added gruffly, “Maybe you’re right, Will. Maybe you _don’t_ love me because you don’t love yourself enough to love me or to believe you deserve happiness. I think there’s maybe something like an aching echo of what love _used_ to feel like, somewhere hidden deep in your heart, and that’s what you have to give me but you can’t make it come out because you’re too damn scared to try.”

“ _Yes_!” Will nearly screamed the word, but while the various onlookers were clearly fascinated or concerned, they didn’t intrude further on the scene and he was too upset to feel embarrassed at the public argument. “I _am_ scared, and I’ve told you that but _you don’t listen_! You pushed me and pushed me, and for a while, I liked it, but now you’re pushing me _too far_ and I can’t follow you anymore. I have to stay here where I belong, and you have to get back to your life. I’m just a distraction.”

“I’m not going to keep correcting you whenever you put yourself down, if you refuse to stop doing it.” Hannibal shook his head, “I almost want to wring my hands or shake you, but there’s no use. I’m so happy with you, and I think you know it, I think you’re happy with me too, that you can _feel_ this, and you’re making yourself let me go anyway, just to prove some point about how life isn’t fair.”

“It _isn’t_ fair,” Will confirmed, feeling like he was backing closer and closer to the edge of a cliff. Once this conversation was over, he’d tip over into the whistling, desolate abyss of life without Hannibal. “I’m not a prince, and fairy tales aren’t real. We have to do what’s healthiest for our families and our own peace of mind, instead of trying to build miracles out of mismatched broken pieces.”

Hannibal’s eyes shone with tears, his voice tight as he started towards Will as if to bring the younger man into his arms (Will would have gone; he never could have helped himself from surrendering), but then he stopped short and gave Will a look that was half-accusation, half-despairing.

“Any other man, Will Graham. In the whole world. If you were any other man, I’d walk away; I’d let it go. But it’s you. So you’re going to have to ask me, or I won’t be able to do it.”

It was the hardest thing Will ever had to make himself do, but he walked to Hannibal in three heavy steps, then placed shaking hands on his arms and looked up into his eyes, a thousand apologies glimmering in his own as that old, familiar ache tugged at his heart. Just an echo.

“Walk away,” Will told him gently. 

Hannibal nodded, “Don’t worry about coming to the airport tomorrow; it’s fine.”

And then Hannibal walked away and left Will standing there alone like he’d asked.

He must have walked to the bus stop or called an Uber, because he left Phil and the Bentley there to drive Will home.

***

Will sat dejectedly at the Blue Slate that evening, flicking through pictures of himself and Hannibal on his phone while the kids sat at the counter eating grilled cheeses and slurping strawberry milkshakes.

“I’m trying to work myself up to delete all these photos,” Will sighed to Reggie and Robbie, who sat across from him, their faces etched in concern.

“Oh, honey, don’t do that,” said Reggie. He laid his fingers over Will’s wrist. “I know it seems like erasing the evidence will make the pain go away, but trust me, you’ll be kicking yourself if you ever want those back again someday.”

“You are so full of shit,” Robbie hooted. “You just think Will is still going to marry Hannibal someday. That boy came in here to ask for our son’s hand like the perfect gentleman and you could not have _been_ more pleased.”

“Maybe I do still think they can work it out,” Reggie said seriously. “Maybe I took a slight liking to Hannibal Lecter, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is what Will wants.”

This would normally be the part where Will chirped up, “You guys _do_ realize I’m sitting right here?” But instead he was distracted by something Robbie had said.

“He came here and asked you guys for _my hand_?” Will’s eyes lit up in reluctant hunger to know every detail, but just as quickly the light went out, doused by reality.

“You know,” said Reggie, rubbing his chin and leaning back as nostalgia set in, “Sometimes it _does_ take a few proposal attempts before one’s intended says ‘yes.’ The first time I asked your father to marry me, he was having none of it.”

“Oh, well, that’s probably because you offered me a ring that came in a Cracker Jack box,” Robbie snorted. “I was waiting for a _legitimate_ proposal is all, my love.”

“You’ve still got that Cracker Jack ring in your wallet, Dad, you’re not fooling anyone,” Will reminded Robbie with a watery smile. 

He glanced over at the counter where the kids were spinning around on their chairs, a game that simply never got old for them despite the fact that they’d both been completing the dizzying act on a near-daily basis since they were old enough not to fall out. Rose and Rory were in their own little world, already chatting about what they were going to dress up as for Halloween, and Will started to wonder how long it would be before they forgot about their new friend Abigail.

Will was glad, in a way, that it probably wouldn’t take long given how young they still were, and with the efforts he and Hannibal had taken to keep their interactions light and breezy around the kids, it probably wouldn’t be more than a few months before they would stop asking where he and Abigail were. A few more months until they forgot who Hannibal and Abigail _were_ , and then Will would be the sole proprietor of his haunted house of a heart, keeping hold of precious ghosts, memories that couldn’t be deleted no matter how much better it would be to forget. Somehow the pain was more appealing than the sweet oblivion of repression, and he supposed it was because at least in the pain there was some part of Hannibal still living inside him. At least he could still feel him that way, like a knife lodged in his gut which he had to leave intact so he wouldn’t bleed out, but he didn’t want to be stitched up either.

He let his eyes wander dazedly from his laughing children with their rumpled mops of curls, back over to his fathers, but in the process his gaze flitted briefly through the glass in the front door and he saw Hannibal standing there. 

With a slight double-take, Will looked at Reggie, who gave a short, meaningful nod, and then when he glanced back to the door, it was slightly ajar and Hannibal was holding it open, his expression penitent. Will read his meaning easily enough: _I’m sorry for everything, will you come here for a minute?_ And Will knew he stepped briskly back from the door and disappeared outside again so that the kids wouldn’t see him and get all excited. 

Will followed him outside, where he tentatively cupped the writer’s face in his hands, murmuring, “Okay?”

Was it okay to touch him. Didn’t he know that even though they had to break up, Will would always want him, always long for his touch, always melt into him without hesitation?

“Yeah,” Will sighed, and something seemed to break behind Hannibal’s eyes.

Hannibal backed him up against the side of the building and caught his lips in a sloppy, searching kiss, desperate and deep, and Will wrapped his arms around the actor’s neck, driving fingers into his hair and tugging as he kissed harder, firm hands gliding down over the sides of Will’s body to land on his hips.

The darkness of this particular spot between the diner and the closed antique shop next door provided an advantage; no one walking by was likely to glimpse the two bodies locked together in the dense shadows. They kissed, without the need for explanation or anything more than the heated press of two bodies, mouths wetly exploring each other, fingers tugging and squeezing all the sensitive parts of each other they knew by heart, and it seemed to go on forever until it was over and Will realized it had only been a couple of minutes. 

They were breathing heavily, staring into each other’s wide, amazed eyes and tracing each others’ redly swollen lips, until finally Hannibal nodded, an acceptance of what Will had decided about their relationship. 

“Remember us?” Hannibal said, letting Will go and taking a step back.

Will nodded as every single pore, nerve, heartbeat, brainwave and panic mechanism in his body screamed out for him to stay, to grab onto him and be with him always, no matter what else happened. 

But aloud he only managed to whisper, “Always.”

Then, with another nod that was torturously sensitive and polite, as if Hannibal was trying to atone for anything demanding or presumptuous he’d done before, he turned and left, this time for good.

***

Will got the text from Bella just as he’d stepped back into the diner trying to compose himself after whatever the hell that kiss from Hannibal had been -- _goodbye? Someday I’ll see you again? I miss you already? This is our last kiss? I still love you?_

His head was spinning, but his thoughts were brought into rapid focus by the content of Bella’s message: _I need to check into the hospital tonight. Do you mind dropping me off?_

“Jack’s in LA dealing with Rodrigo’s latest crisis,” Bella explained when Will picked her up from the house she’d rented in Baltimore. “And I know I need to do this, for real this time.” She chewed her nails, red-eyed, wan but determined. “I just didn’t want to walk in there alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” Will assured her. “Is it pretentious of me to say I’m proud of you? It’s so brave of you to start up treatment again.”

“No,” Bella smiled, “It isn’t pretentious. I like the way you always offered me support but you never got bossy about it. You and Hannibal were both always like that, the calm in the storm, safe harbor. I felt okay talking to either of you about my cancer. With Jack, he would just…” She shrugged, hunching down into her seat. “Panic.”

“You know, from what Hannibal has told me, plus however well I’ve gotten to know Jack myself, it doesn’t seem like he’s usually given to excessive worrying. Maybe only…”

“If it’s someone he loves. My level-headed, type-A cutie pie,” Bella shook her head with a rueful laugh. “I guess Jack inspired me to get myself under control -- find out what the next steps are for sure, instead of leaving my current prognosis a mystery while my health potentially spirals. I don't know what's going on inside me, so I can't tell if my symptoms are _symptoms,_ or just my body reacting to anxiety over whether I have...symptoms.”

“I think you’re incredibly strong,” Will said. 

Only once he uttered the words, which were deeply true, did he realize they were the same words Hannibal had said when he first told him about the psychological aftermath of his early childhood. Here Will was, echoing his words like they were still a couple. There was an echo in his heart, for sure, but maybe it was much more than an ache to remember his own ability to love. Maybe it was something much more profound.

Bella’s self-deprecating laugh broke through Will’s thought tangent as she replied, “I don’t feel strong at all, not in the slightest.”

“But you’re doing the right thing to take care of yourself anyway. There’s such a resilience in that, Bella. I never told you this, but, um...my biological parents were both alcoholics.” Will let the words hang in the air, experimenting with how it felt to just come out and tell someone without all the usual subterfuge or avoiding the topic at all costs, even when it directly tied into a preexisting discussion. 

Bella only nodded thoughtfully when Will glanced over to see her reaction, then redirected his eyes to the road. 

“I wish, uh…” how to find the words as they reopened faulty stitching in the wounds his heart had held for so many years? “I wish they had been strong enough to commit to their recovery. That’s how I know you’re so brave.”

“Aww...Will,” Bella patted his shoulder.

“I have been trying to avoid dealing with these feelings about my bio-mom and dad for so many years, and it’s a big part of why, I think why I-- Hannibal asked me to marry him today and I couldn’t say yes. And he’s leaving for Canada in the morning.”

“Will! Oh my God, what are you doing here, helping me, after the day you’ve had? Seriously, you should have just told me, and I could have called Alana, or--”

“Really, Bella, it’s fine,” Will assured her, finding the shaky hand on the armrest between them and squeezing it briefly. He stared at the road ahead with a new, slightly confusing but very, very strong resolution growing inside him. “I want to understand why I could never accept Hannibal’s love, why even now the thought of accepting it fills me with this strange fear, this...this self-hatred, it’s so confusing. I don’t know if I would have gotten to this stage of thinking about my bio parents if I hadn’t been here with you tonight, and it has me feeling like...maybe, just maybe despite all my cynicism...it’s possible that some things are meant to be?”

“Like...you and me becoming friends?” Bella smiled, starting with an easy example that relaxed them both slightly. “Or...me belonging with Jack? And maybe, despite all the fear and confusion and cynicism, and let’s face it, Cowboy being the world’s biggest dork, you and Hannibal being soulmates, too?”

“Maybe,” Will agreed, just barely starting to allow himself to admit the possibility. “I don’t know, Bella. But just _maybe_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try and post the next chapter as soon as I get time, so that you're not left hanging on what happens. ❤️


	18. Chapter 18

**Three Months Later  
December, Comic Con**

Hannibal didn’t know why he couldn’t shake the stupid fantasy that he’d see Will here at the Boston fan convention, but there was an extra skip in his step and a silly smile he couldn’t quite repress at the very thought. He tucked his red plaid scarf into his grey peacoat, popping the collar against the cold drizzle as he walked from his hotel to the convention center, defying Jack’s recommendation that he make a more subtle entrance to avoid getting mobbed by fans. He needed the air and didn’t mind that he got stopped for quite a few autographs as he made his way through the crowds of shivering, costumed fans and dipped inside the building.

Ah, these places were all the same, enormous and generic, like a blank template until the big rooms were filled with the colorful warmth of fan enthusiasm, booths selling handmade cosplay accessories, card games, posters, t-shirts, crocheted dolls; fans milling around feeding off the exuberant anticipation in the air, and everyone sort of mystified by the way it was getting harder to tell the actors from the cosplayers because the latter did such amazing jobs on their looks.

It was a special world, different from any other, a place of camaraderie in weird geekiness, cozily welcoming, and he’d had a soft spot for the conventions since the first time he attended (amusingly enough, to promote _Overlord_ ). But he’d also met Will at a convention, which meant that this setting was forever special to him in a much more powerful way. His foolish heart skipped a beat every time he saw a pretty brown head of curls in the crowd in front of him, and he found himself cherishing the cruelly transient hope it was Will, continually denied as a reality, but he wouldn’t have missed the chance to feel that hope just for a few seconds that meant the world to him. 

He’d been seeing Will everywhere he went since the day they said goodbye, and this phenomena was showing no sign of ending anytime soon.

The _Blood Law_ panel started in just twenty minutes in Hall H, so he headed over there to be ready, spending the meantime chatting with his castmates, especially Margot, whose documentary _Turning the Tables: The Crimes of Tabloid Journalism_ had just been nominated for an Emmy. Margot had also been dating Alana since the end of August, and had a smile on her face these days more often than not. As for Freddie Lounds, her career had dwindled in consequence of the general public being alerted to her cruel and unusual tactics. _US Weekly_ stopped calling, even printed an apology and retraction of the article, and Hannibal hadn’t even seen a byline from her on Tattle-Celeb.com in months. 

Before Hannibal knew it, it was time to go on stage, so he adjusted the slate grey button-up shirt he wore tucked neatly into black slim-fit dress pants and cleared his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping he looked good; he wanted to make a fresh start today after moping around in heartbroken woe for far too long.

The funny bit was the press originally assuming he was pining after Bedelia, only it wasn’t really funny, the way they made their guesses. He hadn’t been snapped on a date in months, and since his “ill-advised rebound fling” with a screenwriter he often appeared melancholy, suggesting he regretted leaving his marriage. Yes, the documentary might have damaged Freddie’s career, but celebrity news was always going to sell, and the writers of it had to piece together Hannibal’s most likely status based on what scant evidence they had.

But then, during a lull in celebrity scandals around Christmastime, Freddie -- obviously desperate by now -- made the choice to leak Will’s identity as BloodSoakedSecrets1985, presumably to milk the embarrassing tale of a celeb who stooped so low as to actually date a lusty, fanfiction-writing super-fan. 

However, the story actually inspired a different response for the most part, from the countless tumblr montages of “Hannigram” together in Baltimore, thanks to Freddie’s own continual photography, featuring captions like _“This fanboy was living the dream! I am so jelly, good for him!!”_ to the extra onslaught of self-insert, second-person “Real-Life-People” fics which flourished, allowing fans to imagine themselves as the lucky fan creator who unexpectedly caught the eye of Draven’s portrayer. 

The majority of Hannibal's fans took in the documentary and the full revelation about Will’s “fanboy” nature and decided they shipped the two of them. Public perception had shifted recently with the realization that Will wasn’t just Hannibal’s co-worker, a Hollywood insider and part of the elite; Will was one of _them._ He was down-to-earth, relatable, likable, too. 

Bedelia had tirelessly assured Hannibal she hadn’t leaked the information about Will’s fanfic authordom, demanding to be left unblamed for this latest fit of paparazzo mischief. 

“I’m done trying to win you back. You don’t listen to sense,” Bedelia insisted the day he asked her, while he stood at her door waiting for Abigail to come outside. “Clearly, where Will Graham is concerned, Hannibal, you don’t _have_ any sense. If only you’d ever felt that way about me.”

“I loved you very much, Bedelia,” he’d answered, still working through the complications of this in his own understanding. “Who knows what we might have been together? But we _couldn’t_. And I don’t think the what-ifs really matter anymore, especially if we’re to ever be friends again.”

“You’d still...be willing to try for friendship?” She had arched her pale brows, pursing her ruby lips in doubt. “After what I did?”

“I suppose it depends what you do from now on,” Hannibal replied with a shrug.

And so far, it hadn’t been too bad. For one thing, Bedelia’s wandering eye guaranteed that her frustration at losing her oldest, best-loved toy could only last so long before she was otherwise entertained, this time without any pesky vows to hold her back from thoroughly enjoying her latest paramour.

It wasn’t so bad, he decided, moving on from divorce and recovering the sense that you could be whole again someday, even if someday wasn’t anywhere in sight; just a pinprick of light over a distant horizon, but you kept your eye on it and went on walking. Abigail had been glad to go back to school and slip into the familiarity of her routine, comforted by the continued presence of both parents in her life so that she came to see she still had them both and always would. 

One November night as they ate dinner together, Abigail asked Hannibal about why Will and his kids hadn’t come to visit. “Isn’t Will your boyfriend now?”

“Not now, but would it be okay with you if someday he is? I don’t know if it will ever happen, though.”

Abigail took a minute to think and then gave an approving nod. “He’s so nice, and I like the way you look at him. He makes you smile, Dad.”

Hannibal pulled his daughter into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “You make me smile, too, Abigail. I’m happy here with you.”

And he _was_ able to feel happiness even without Will, holding onto his optimism although he was incomplete, still a little restless and never quite content. He felt healthy and adjusted in his new house, and the space to move on had shown him even more clearly that he’d been living compressed by unspoken despair for far too many years.

“And now,” the emcee called out as the cheers and hoots from the crowd died down from Margot’s entrance onto the stage, and the fans got their breath back in time to summon new shouts of glee. “The vampire king of the Honeycutt Falls coven, the villain who keeps all of our heroes on their toes while always just on the verge of becoming an anti-hero, Draven himself, _Haaaaaniballl Leeeccccteeerrrr_!”

Hannibal blushed at the cheers and applause, his heart beating fast as he walked across the stage, then settled into a chair between Margot and Chance Ribold, who played the tirelessly optimistic public defender Marcus Monroe. Abigail waved excitedly from the front row where she sat beside Jack and Bella. Hannibal could just about make them out through the haze of the stage lights, and could easily imagine how many thrilled murmurs of _‘look who it is!’_ Bella must have garnered from fans by nestling so casually into the audience.

He loved these panels, but he was always just a little nervous about being able to answer all the questions eloquently enough in English, and the attention, although he was used to it, somehow tended to seem new when it came unfiltered by greedy tabloid flashbulbs or rude catcalls, and when it came from the heart instead, sentimental and sincere.

They settled in for the Q&A, and he was relatively satisfied that he was holding his own, delicately choosing his answers to the questions about Season 7’s upcoming revelations of Draven’s ancestry, plus where “Dravunda”’s relationship was heading.

“...but I don’t want to give too much away,” he explained slightly sheepishly, with all the charm he could inject given that he really, really felt like sharing all the _BL_ secrets with these fans who were longing to know, who poured out their souls in the fandom and deserved anything he could give them in return.

The bright-orange-haired teen girl who’d asked about Dravunda was contented with his response, and passed the mic back to the emcee so that the next fan could pose a question to the cast.

“Hi everyone,” said a bubbly but nervous voice, making Hannibal’s heart stop. The lights seemed to blur again and he could only see a familiar, flannel-clad figure in the audience ahead, about ten rows back, a man with curly brown hair. “My question is also for Hannibal.”

Will came into focus, all blue-grey, stormy eyes and pink-cheeked sexiness, pretty lips hovering above the mic as Hannibal nodded, resisting the urge to leap into the audience and take Will into his arms, giving the writer the biggest kiss of his life.

“Yes, I’m glad to take another question,” Hannibal answered, keeping it as smooth as he could although the suspense was killing him, along with the shock riveting through his body yelling, _It’s him! Will! He’s really here!_

It was like his dream had come to life. It was like dreams really _were_ worth dreaming, after all. Yes, he’d embraced a sensible life lately, but that didn’t mean he’d ever be a _fully_ sensible man.

“Great, well I guess I’d just like to know, on behalf of all of your fans,” Will announced as Bella gave him two thumbs up. Jack rolled his eyes with a fond smile. Abigail looked excitedly back and forth between Will and her dad, smiling brightly.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Will inquired, batting his long, dark eyelashes at Hannibal like his destiny depended on the reply. This time, Hannibal had to get it right.

“Well…” He stroked his smooth-shaven jaw for a moment, head tilted in thought as if he was really trying to decide. He spoke slowly, choosing every English word with care. “As a matter of fact, I think I do. I believe I have even experienced it myself. Even if the young man was quite abominably rude, and I was rather out of sorts myself at the time, I could feel a connection between us that was like nothing I had ever felt before.”

“Would you ever...date a fan?” Will asked, and Hannibal grinned so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“I just might,” he said in a softly seductive tone that made the crowd erupt into cheers. The fans started chatting loudly among themselves, and he could make out the sounds of them realizing _“it’s Will Graham, the fan he dated over the summer!”_ and _“Oh, my God, this is just like a movie!”_

“I have one more question,” said Will slyly, “But is it okay if I come up there to ask it?”

The cheers and whoops intensified and Hannibal gestured boldly for him to come up on stage, inciting the crowd to chant, _”Will, Will, Will!_ ”

It suddenly seemed like there was no one else in the room by the time Will made his way onstage, standing before Hannibal with an anxiously elated smile, looking one hundred percent like the same stunning angel the actor remembered. Will wore a blue plaid shirt that brought out his eyes, and well-fitting jeans; he still had that wicked habit of biting his lip when nervous or excited or both.

“My third and final question for today is this,” Will announced into the mic as his fingers trembled around it, but he reasserted his grip, going down on one knee and looking up at him, flirtatious but imploring all at once. “Would you ever _marry_ a fan?”

The crowd’s applause and cries of excitement blared to deafening, but he was focused only on Will as he held his hand and they smiled at each other, fearless. Will drew a ring from his pocket, offering it as if there was nothing more he wanted than to slide it onto Hannibal’s finger, showing everyone they belonged together always. Hannibal nodded, speechless with joy as Will placed the ring on him and they found the white gold band a perfect fit.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Hannibal replied, tugging Will to his feet and laying a kiss on the younger man’s lips, feeling his broken heart immediately healed by the warm, slick pressure of vanilla chapstick and the warmer fluttering of his beloved’s breath, the familiar crush of Will’s body in his arms. He hadn’t felt it in so long that it hurt deeply, but the pain was life, it was everything they had been through to find each other and get to this place, never to be parted again.

They drew back from kissing only to draw breath again, both of them crying with small trembles of bliss as they stared at each other in disbelief. If they didn’t have an audience, Hannibal would have kissed him much harder, but the chaste presses of lips were the perfect promise of everything to come.

“Hello Will,” Hannibal murmured, knowing that he could do this now, finally, and it felt so perfectly right. “I love you.”

Will’s laugh was musical, infectious, and he had never looked more beautiful, his fingers fastening on Hannibal’s collar as he leaned up for another kiss. “I love you, too,” he smiled.

***

“I know it’s in here somewhere,” Hannibal mused, digging through his suitcase, which sat on the king-sized bed in his hotel room.

“What are you looking for, anyway?” Will asked, coming up behind him and clasping his hands around his fiance’s stomach. Will nuzzled his face into Hannibal’s back, purring in contentment, and the actor’s heart melted as a flush spread over his cheeks.

“You, always. But also, at the moment...hmmm…” Hannibal flicked a few shirts out of the suitcase, letting them land haphazardly on the bed in his distraction. His uncharacteristically messy behavior meant he really, really wanted to find what he sought. _It’s in here somewhere, I know it…_

He’d already checked the side pockets of his luggage, but maybe he had left it in his trousers’ pocket from yesterday...he yanked the pair of pants out impatiently and Will groaned, releasing him to climb onto the bed, picking up the pair of sleek jewel-colored shirts Hannibal had tossed down.

“Oh my God, yessss, please be kind to these shirts, we don’t want to lose them.” Will closed his eyes, kneeling with a soft, red button-up shirt pressed to his cheek. “Mmm, Hannibal. How I dreamed of you wearing shirts like this in the cold weather.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he grinned. “Feel free to steal them, and wear them yourself with absolutely nothing underneath.”

“I plan to, but I’m leaving plenty of them for you to wear.”

“This is a nice shirt, too.” Teasingly, Will crawled across the bed to him and went up on his knees, biting his lip as he unbuttoned Hannibal’s shirt with slow but eager intent. “Let me get a closer look. Nice fabric...good sturdy buttons…” Will started kissing his way across Hannibal’s chest, his attentions languorous until the actor gasped, suitably distracted.

“That’s a fine investigation you’re conducting,” he sighed, trying to make himself remember why he still needed to find this all-important item before they did anything else. “I just need…”

Will hummed, circling his fiance’s nipple with his tongue as Hannibal grew hard, a light sweat breaking out all over his body, a low moan escaping his lips. He’d _missed_ Will so much. He hadn’t consciously chosen to wait for Will; instead it was the only thing he could really seem to do.

“What do you need, Hannibal?” 

“This!” He declared, triumphant in his victory over his lustful instincts, however momentary the return to cogent thought. “ _Here_ we are.”

Taking Will’s hand in his, he slid the engagement ring onto the younger man’s finger. Will looked up at him in surprise.

“You had this with you?” Tears sparkled in Will’s eyes but he played it off with a coy smirk. “Were you just carrying this around in case you happened to meet some new person to propose to?”

“No, my darling,” Hannibal said huskily, “I was carrying it around hoping one day I would see you again, and since there was no telling where or when that might be, I thought I might just keep it around forever.”

“I love you,” Will breathed, brushing tears from his eyes until Hannibal kissed them away, his lips soon traveling over Will’s face, then sliding hotly down his neck. 

“I love you,” Hannibal said against Will’s smooth, supple skin, noticing how his summer tan had faded, making him marvel at the chance to enjoy the way the younger man changed with every season. His voice fell gruffly aching around the words, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

“Tell me in every language you know,” Will begged, pulling him on top as he collapsed back onto the bed.

So Hannibal told him, and he practiced repeating it back to him, slowly and carefully, giggling as he fumbled a few syllables in French, German and Lithuanian, and then as Hannibal pressed a kiss to his lips between each word, finally, “I,” “Love,” “You.”

“Now,” Will said, looking searchingly into his eyes, finding the other half of himself reflected there as Hannibal slid Will’s shirt back from his shoulders and skimmed his fingers adoringly over Will’s arms, “Tell me without saying a word.”

Obediently silent, but with a commanding flash in his eyes, Hannibal stripped both of their clothing off, then spoke his love in absolutely no uncertain terms, all night long.

***

“Jack and Bella didn’t mind watching Abigail for the night?” Will asked as they enjoyed what seemed to be the entire “Late Night” room service menu in bed after midnight, seared salmon with wild garlic puree; brie and bleu cheese over crispy crostini with fig jam and impossibly thin-cut prosciutto that melted on his tongue; rich pinot noir, and that insanely fucking sexy look on Hannibal’s face to finish the delicious effect. 

“No, I think they quite like the chance to practice being parents, since they intend to start their own family soon enough -- on their honeymoon, according to Bella,” Hannibal chuckled.

“I’m so glad Bella’s doing better, that she beat the cancer,” Will grinned. “I can’t believe we all get the chance to actually have what we want, our happily ever afters.”

“I suppose they do exist after all.”

Hannibal’s eyes glowed as they roved shamelessly over Will’s body in his pajama top. Hmm, Will in Hannibal's pajama top and Hannibal in just the pants. _This_ could get to be a habit. A glimmer of curiosity overtook post-coital tingles now as Hannibal finished his bite of wagyu slider with horseradish sauce and truffles, licking his lips before asking, “So, my love, how did you get here?”

“How did I get here, Hannibal, well, I drove,” Will snarked, kneeing him as Hannibal caught his bare leg and tweaked his nose. “Do you mean, existentially, metaphysically, Oprah-interview time, how did I get here?”

“Precisely, my prince, just so. The last time we met, you were determined not to marry me, remember?”

“Ouch, how could I forget? Well, that carousel proposal was impetuous, honey. Beautiful!” Will added, almost choking on a sip of wine as Hannibal shot him a hilariously “offended” scowl. 

But a moment later, another feeling tugged in his heart and Will sighed. This wasn’t going to do; they couldn’t laugh this off. The smile faded from his face as he climbed into Hannibal’s lap and looked deeply into his eyes. “Honey, I want you to know from the bottom of my heart how sorry I am that I couldn’t say yes that day. It was the most wonderful proposal I could ever have imagined.”

“Will, I understand. I was moving too fast and you weren’t ready.” Hannibal stroked his cheek. 

“When you confronted me with the fact that you truly loved me and wanted to marry me, I still couldn’t believe it. It dredged up issues that I wasn’t prepared to deal with. But I couldn’t entirely understand what was going on inside my heart. I was _terrified_ of marrying you and somehow disappointing you, ruining things, so unwilling to believe we could find a way around all the complications of long distance and different worlds and all that. Yet all I wanted was to believe. So once you left, um, the next day in fact, I went to my therapist, and I said, ‘Look, Dr. Leslie.” 

Will sat up straight, both hands up, palms facing out.

“This was serious,” Hannibal noted with a wry smile, although tears still clung to his lashes.

“Serious as hell. I said, Dr. Leslie, the love of my life proposed to me and I said no. I need to find out why that is, because I know it isn’t really any of the highly sensible but overall pointless worries that I relied on while I was telling him no. I know it is something else altogether. And I had a feeling it had a lot to do with my childhood, as well as what happened with Fredrick. So we started trying to figure it all out, way more directly than I’d been willing to do before. And also...I decided to go and visit Travis.”

Hannibal’s brow furrowed slightly. “Was that alright?”

“I was definitely scared,” Will recalled, “But yeah, it was alright. Beverly asked me beforehand, did I feel safe seeing Travis again, and I had to tell her no, but it was something I needed to do so that I could understand. What had happened to me, and what it meant, plus how the hell to move on from this feeling of being unwantable.”

“You’re the most wantable person I have ever met,” Hannibal smiled, kissing his lips, softly and briefly. “How is Beverly, by the way?”

“Oh, good! She and Brian are the same as ever, two of the best friends I could ask for.”

“And Travis?” he asked gently.

“Travis is Travis,” Will shrugged. “A well-meaning, hapless, ultimately totally self-centered guy with five million excuses for why he can never shape up. In our own ways, we love each other. And talking with him, I started to see that his decision to give me up never had anything to do with who or what I was...it was all about the responsibility that he couldn’t handle, couldn’t muster. I needed to see that this theory I’d always held about there being something inherently broken in me that made me repulsive to others was just a myth. It’s been hard work, but I hoped it would lead me here, Hannibal...back to you.”

“You’re extraordinary, amazing,” Hannibal extolled, kissing Will’s hand over and over. “I feel like I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.”

“You’re plenty deserving,” Will corrected him smoothly. “What’s all this I hear about you no longer charging for meet and greets, by the way?”

“Oh. A beautiful, very angry man once advised me to show more appreciation for my wonderful fans. Also had a habit of suggesting I was a bit of a spendthrift.”

“A _spendthrift_?” Will cackled, “Where did you learn English, Dickensian London?”

Hannibal laughed warmly and reminded him, “No, from Hitchcock movies. And in any case, I’ve been making more of an effort to give back lately, and it feels quite wonderful.”

“Does this mean you’re not going to spoil me anymore?” Will pouted, although his face beamed with pride at Hannibal’s explanation. 

“My prince, I will never, _ever_ stop spoiling you.” Hannibal shot him a devilish grin. “Let’s be honest, I’m rather good at it, aren’t I?”

“I don’t remember,” Will said with feigned confusion, squinting. “I guess you’ll have to remind me.” 

They laughed between kisses as they tumbled over each other, sending the plates clattering to the floor.

***

Before they fell asleep, Will showed Hannibal pictures of his life of the last three months, including Rory and Rose dressed up as Power Rangers for Halloween and a giggly video from the day they went to their favorite Christmas tree farm and wandered the crunchy snow looking for the perfect tree, cups of fresh cider nestled in their mittened hands.

“I miss them,” Hannibal smiled sentimentally. 

“They ask about you all the time, you and Abigail. I can’t wait for us to all be together again.” Will blinked up at him from where he lay with his head in Hannibal’s lap as the older man threaded his fingers through dark curls. “I’m sorry we lost out on having our holidays together.”

“We have so many more years of holidays ahead of us,” Hannibal smiled. “You needed this time. Perhaps without knowing it, I did, too. Now we are truly ready for one another.”

They lay back admiring the rings on their fingers. “You know,” Will reflected, “even if you’d given me a box of Cracker Jacks containing a plastic ring and asked me to marry you in a Dairy Queen parking lot, I still would have wanted to say yes.”

Hannibal ducked his head and Will sat up, looking at his reddening face. “Are you blushing?”

“It’s still, uh…” Hannibal let out a breathy sigh, “it’s still very new to me, and sometimes too much to believe. “To want someone this much, and have them want me back the same way.”

Will ran the back of his hand over the warm cheeks, smiling in complete adoration. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we also have many years ahead of us for me to convince you it’s true.”

***

Hannibal wasn’t entirely sure when they fell asleep, but when Will woke him with a frantic whisper, he jolted up thinking it couldn’t have been more than a few hours ago that they were looking at family photos, then surrendering to a helpless slumber, cuddled up and completely contented.

“Hannibal, wake up, you’ll never believe this!” Will urged as he groaned.

“Will, it’s 3am.”

“How do you like it?” Will teased, ruffling his fiance’s hair and drawing Hannibal’s head to his smooth, bare chest. Hannibal snuggled against him with a muffled sigh.

“I just got a text from Jack,” Will continued, quickly adding, “Abigail is fine! She’s asleep, of course, well guess what? You know how Bedelia made sure _everyone_ knew that I was the author of _You are the nocturnal dread_?”

“Actually, that was all Ms. Lounds,” Hannibal yawned.

“Whatever, anyway, somehow Clarissa Myers got ahold of the story,” Will elaborated, naming the showrunner of _Blood Law_. “And she loves it!”

“I’m not surprised, it’s very, _very sexy_ , just like you…” he started kissing Will’s naked torso again as if the instinct to do so came more easily to him than actually returning to full consciousness. 

Will giggled, smacking him with a pillow.

“Wake _up_ , Hannibal! She wants to meet with me about potentially adding me to the writer’s room on the show!”

“What?” Hannibal peered up at him in astonished happiness. “That’s fantastic, Will!”

“And I forgot to tell you, believe it or not, I also did the unthinkable recently and actually sat down to _talk_ to Frederick. I asked him if it was at all possible he could relocate to Vancouver if I did, and he wasn’t opposed to trying to get certified to practice medicine in Canada. Seems I underestimated how long it would take him to--” Will flashed air quotes, “‘Get over me,’ and his greed because at the mere hint that the kids and I had the chance to live with a celebrity, he was beyond psyched. Between the bragging rights of knowing a famous person and the expectation that he’ll never have to spend much money on the kids again, he was all over it. I actually had to calm him down and tell him it was only a theoretical question.”

“How repugnant,” Hannibal mused, pulling a face, “But at least he’s willing to move so he can still be near the children. That is a big win for us. I’m proud of you for talking to him. I know it isn’t ever easy.”

Hannibal said this knowing very well that the day would still come, absolutely when Frederick Chilton least expected it, that he was going to punch the man squarely in the face.

“I’m proud of me, too.” Will grinned. “Does that mean you’d be okay with working with your husband on the same set, day in and day out, _year_ in and year out? Cause I gotta tell you, I’m pretty sure _BL_ ’s got a few seasons left in her, especially after Marcus revealed the Scrolls of Pamarnavra.”

“I think we are a match made in heaven in every way, darling. And I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone as _my husband._ ”

“Mmm, greetings, esteemed cast and crew of my all-time favorite prime-time fantasy soap opera, I assume you’ve met _my husband,_ Hannibal Lecter?”

“Oh, that is good, too, so good. It’s never going to get old, is it?” Hannibal snuggled into Will’s neck and Will hugged him close as they started falling back to sleep.

“Never,” Will smiled, rubbing his hands over Hannibal’s back as the actor pressed his lips to Will’s neck, then laid his head on Will’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “I just know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and the fluff made up for the angst! Just the epilogue left! ❤️


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a totally fluffy and indulgent last little bit. I hope you enjoy 🥰

The wedding took place in June at a big, old country church just outside Wolf Trap. After six months working exhaustively on developing season 7B of _Blood Law_ while he simultaneously acclimated to the high pressure, heavily caffeine-fueled zaniness of a writing room, Will was more than ready for a few weeks off. Their sweet, old-fashioned ceremony felt like something out of a dream, but by now Will had accepted and believed in the new reality of his existence. It was just like Hannibal kept saying: as if they had each been sleeping for years, only to wake up fully for the first time in their lives when their eyes met at Comic Con the previous summer. They had each been a wreck in their own ways, but they had both known somehow that the encounter had irrevocably changed them.

Goodbye, comatose existence mired in self-hate and convinced he was an annoying burden. Goodbye, thankless low-paying adjunct position (but thank you to the students who had actually cared and tried). Hello, Hannibal freaking Lecter in a flawless navy tux and a huge, goofy, tear-inducing smile awaiting Will at the altar. They had found a stunning home for them to share in Vancouver with the kids -- luxurious, yet rustic, to both of their tastes. Will was able to pay his dads back the money they lent him for the screenwriting courses, and had put in quite a bit more, enough for them to keep the diner open and even take that vacation they’d been putting off for years. Reggie and Robbie had tried objecting to the gift, but Will lovingly insisted, saying they could bring him back a souvenir from the best place they traveled to -- that was all he wanted in return. This explained the Hawaiian hula dancer doll stuck to the dashboard of the Lecter-Graham minivan. The cheerfully bobbing trinket seemed to express the more carefree, bright family life they were making together, the way Will brought vivid color to Hannibal’s previously grey existence while the actor taught Will that love was so much more real and powerful than he had ever guessed.

After so many months of near-perfect bliss, even their occasional lover’s spats were something Will looked forward to. The angry sex was _crazy,_ especially the day they almost tore apart Hannibal’s trailer on the _Blood Law_ set, flinging each other over every surface, fucking vehemently while still exchanging heated words of annoyance about the script they disagreed on.

Will blushed as he remembered that particular incident, probably their spiciest near-public outburst of passion, though not nearly as decadent and shameless as the bondage and edging which they had been indulging regularly. He usually had cuff marks on his wrists and ankles to conceal carefully under his clothing, suits for the most part which had been commissioned with Hannibal’s prideful direction to his favorite tailer. Suits with _W.L.-G._ monogramed on them because he belonged to Hannibal. His husband loved to mark him and declare that bond in every possible way. Will would roll his eyes and sigh, lamenting of his desire to wear flannel and jeans more often, but they both knew he not-so-secretly adored being dressed up in Hannibal’s love, from every wicked bite and bruise covering his body to the suits, jewelry and negligee (really, how could he mind wearing black lace thigh highs, if the result was to be fucked so hard that he couldn’t walk straight the next day?) Will learned to love being something of a spoiled brat, and knew exactly how to push his husband’s buttons to get what he wanted.

Hannibal loved allowing said buttons to be pushed as often as possible, and that’s how they ended up going to the animal shelter a few days after returning to Vancouver from their gloriously relaxing, beautiful honeymoon in Florence. Will had always wanted a dog and the kids were over the moon, chatting exuberantly for the whole car ride about possible sizes, personalities and names they might end up with for their new pet. Hannibal kept making fake “annoyed” remarks about dog fur in the house.

“It would be a little more convincing if you could wipe the grin off your face, honey,” Will chuckled. 

From the backseat of their minivan, Hannibal’s sister Mischa laughed brightly in agreement. “My brother is incapable of saying no to you, Will, you do realize that.”

Mischa had arrived for a visit the day before and Will was already very fond of the blonde woman, a reporter back home in Lithuania. It was great to see how Hannibal’s best friend was his sister, and Will was excited to visit Hannibal’s homeland for the next Christmas holiday to meet the rest of his family at last.

“People keep telling me that, but I’m sure it isn’t the case,” Hannibal “complained,” smirking and lifting his eyebrows in a teasing way while he drove his growing brood to the shelter.

“Oh, really? Can we get diner food after this?” Will requested, eyes sparkling with mischief.

The kids all cheered and requested burgers and fries. 

“I’ve never had an American cheeseburger before,” Mischa enthused. "I can't wait!"

“You people and your fast food,” Hannibal sighed, already melting because Will was batting his eyelashes, and under his husband’s shirt collar, the actor could just make out a hint of a huge sucking bruise he had left on the younger man’s beautiful neck the night before. 

Will pouted, “Please? You can make something extra fancy tomorrow to make up for it.”

“Very well,” Hannibal conceded like a martyr, “But tomorrow evening will be fresh duck liver pan seared with rich grape essence and demi-glace, and I don’t expect anyone to insist I replace the menu with _fish sticks_.”

“You can have _me_ for dessert afterwards,” Will murmured into his ear as they walked up to the shelter’s entrance hand in hand, the kids and Mischa trailing behind.

“I’ll make a brilliant excuse of some kind and scout out a secluded enough location to have you in approximately two minutes if you do not cease in provoking me,” Hannibal replied in a breezy, casual tone.

Will turned redder and cleared his throat, still slightly distracted when they got to the counter and the administrator Linda asked if she could help them. Linda obviously knew who Hannibal was, as she blushed and fumbled over her words of greeting, but she tactfully opted not to make a big deal of the celebrity visit.

“We’re here to adopt a dog,” Abigail piped up excitedly. “I’m Abigail, and this is my sister, Rose, and my brother Rory. That’s our dads, and this is our Aunt Mischa.”

Will loved the way Abigail was always so excited to call them a family, and how completely she had taken her new step siblings under her wing, playing board games and watching Marvel movies with them, often submitting herself as a client to Rose’s “hair salon” and earning a different highly intriguing and creative "new look" every time. As for Rory and Rose, they adored their big sister and tried to follow her everywhere.

Once they were shown to the yard out back where the dogs were frolicking, the family decided to “break up” and see who could fastest locate the ideal pet for their home. Soon, a slight conflict emerged as everyone was convinced their choice was clearly best.

“He’s perfect,” Rory declared, cradling a perky, hyper but sweet-natured little pup named Buster. 

“Look at this guy, who could resist him?” Will countered, running in joyous circles with a larger retriever mix named Winston. “Who could resist Winston, no one could, you’re such a good boy!”

“For heaven’s sake.” Hannibal came forward holding a fluffy, snobby-looking white poodle mix, “I’ve just been informed that this lovely creature has been given the name Prissy. She’s clearly been underappreciated.”

“Aww, how cute,” Will laughed, petting her soft head as she gave him a wary look but eventually leaned into the affection. “She’s definitely a contender, Hannibal, but she’s a Prissy if I ever saw one.”

“Rose and I found the perfect dog, it’s not even debatable.” Abigail nodded down to the adorable puggle at her feet who was currently getting the petting and cooing of a lifetime from Rose, who sat cross-legged on the grass.

“This is Zoe,” Rose chirped, and the dog looked up at Will, showing an endearing underbite and a soft, loving expression.

“So sweet. Ohh….Hannibal…” Will sighed with his hand on his heart.

“No. Do not even think it, much less say it,” Hannibal answered sternly. He put Prissy down and crossed his arms, looking especially dapper in a black poplin floral patterned shirt that just wouldn’t look good on anyone else. 

It was also going to look fantastic on Will’s bedroom floor as soon as they had a little quiet time to themselves later on… _their_ bedroom floor. Their house, their family and life, and the tiny little twitch at the corners of Hannibal’s mouth when Will smiled sweetly and asked, “Pleeeaaaaasseeee?”

“Of course we cannot adopt four dogs in one day, Will.” He shook his head, cheeks flushed as the smile kept trying to force itself across his face.

“Only four?” Will replied angelically. The glimmer in his knowing gaze said silently, just between the two of them, _Daddy?_

“Let’s get them all!” Rory suggested, and Mischa grinned, tucking fresh-picked daisies into everyone’s hair, no need for her to chime in with a comment on what was inevitably about to occur.

“Very well, I suppose the more is the merrier,” Hannibal groaned, casting his eyes skyward. He was unprepared when the entire family launched themselves at him with enormous hugs, but then as all those warm arms wrapped around each other and he burst into helpless laughter, Hannibal thought perhaps he’d been waiting for this, too, all his life. He met Will’s delighted eyes over the children’s heads and knew his husband felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone for reading, for the kudos and wonderful, encouraging comments. Sharing this story has helped me survive some rough months and I hope it offered a bit of comforting escapism for you as well. Be well ❤️❤️❤️ and feel free to hit me up on Tumblr, I'm earthsickwithoutyou and some-sick-deja-vu -- always happy to chat!


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